


Confinement

by AlbaStarGazer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abduction, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Aquaphobia, Arguing, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blackmail, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Choking, Claustrophobia, Coercion, Confessions, Confusion, Corpses, Creepy, Dark, Dark Fic Fest, Dark Past, Dark Reylo Fic, Delusional Thinking, Delusions, Depressing, Depression, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugged Sex, Drugging, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Ending is not a total happy ever after, Ending is subjectively happy, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fights, Flashbacks, Gaslighting, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hallucinations, Horror, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inappropriate Behavior, Inspired by Horror Movies, Inspired by Saw, Inspired by the Saw Movie Series, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Masturbation in Shower, Medicinal Drug Use, Menstruation, Mental Breakdown, Mental Disintegration, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mention of Death, Mention of Period Blood, Mentions of a Troubled Childhood, Minor Injuries, Mistaken Identity, Neglect, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Dry Humping, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Out of Character, Overdosing, Panic, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Paranoid, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Violence, Peeping Tom, Persuasion - Freeform, Poisoning, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Rough Sex, Sadism, Scars, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Reflection, Serious Injuries, Sex, Sickfic, Somnophilia, Stabbing, Strangulation, Suicidal Thoughts, Surreal, Surveillance, Survival, Threats, Threats of Violence, Thriller, Torture, Triggers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Voyeurism, Water Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-08-21 21:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlbaStarGazer/pseuds/AlbaStarGazer
Summary: Rey Kenobi wakes up chained in a basement alongside the CEO of the company she works for, Ben Solo.As their captor watches them through a series of cameras, the two grow closer.





	1. WAKE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gopherbroke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gopherbroke/gifts).



> Admittedly, I am quite scared about posting this but I have wanted to post a dark fic and I started this last month, inspired by the spooky season. I am a huge fan of horror/true crime/dark fics and I wanted to try write my own. 
> 
> Saw is obviously a huge inspiration!
> 
> I will be updating the tags per chapter so please be mindful to read those and continue to refer to them if you continue to read. I do not wish to trigger anyone.
> 
> Anyway, I know this story will not be to everyone's taste so if you want to read my fluff instead, I take no offence. I will be posting another fluffy fic soon.

Dull pain, a gnawing kind of agony, blossomed in her skull. It was disorientating and evident that something had struck her, hard but unwilling to focus too much on her hurt, she fought against it all, swallowing hard before poking her tongue out, licking her dry, chapped lips. The skin was split there, fleshy chasms that tasted like rich iron. Blood, the inside of her mouth was coated in it; the shallow pool clung thickly to her teeth in glossy films. Dizzy, her world spun as she rolled to her side, which induced dry retching, as all she could taste was that almost foreign fluid combined with acidic bile.

Nausea lapped at her gut in lurching waves so she groped there, digging her blunt nails into her firm navel and attempted to move as vertigo took hold of her body but there was little room to manoeuvre, a cold heavy weight around her ankle kept her anchored and secured to the soft mattress.

It continued that way for a while, Rey was weak, her limbs too heavy and all she could do was heave, certain she would vomit until she could scarcely breathe. The sheets below her were far more extravagant than anything she had ever had the pleasure of feeling; the blankets were thick and warm, the pillows soft and firm. A poignant rosy scent lingered, buried deep into the fabric, one she recognised well enough. It was the fabric softener she had used for years but despite all of this, she knew she was not in the comfort of her own home. No, this was something else and a daunting fear crept into her psyche with that acknowledgment.

After summoning some of her courage, she blinked, eyes fluttering open and gazed at her new surroundings. It was clinical and stark white, spacious and void of all furniture save for her bed and a television. A wide metal door was nestled in the corner, there was no handle but there was a keypad in place. Overhead, a beam of light flickered intermittently, drenching the room in a hazy, fluorescent yellowish white. Cradling her head, she slouched forward, sitting upright and noted for the first time that she was not alone.

To her right, laid out on another bed, was a man. It was not just any man, it was the CEO of the company she worked for, the enigmatic, Ben Solo. Despite her own pain in the form of violet bruises that chafed against the chain she was attached to, she worried for him. The metal was heavy, thick and coiled tight, she pushed away the blankets and tugged, finding that the chain lead to the wall, bolted and locked in place. After rattling it a few times and testing the strength, she came to the realisation that there was no escape, someone obviously wanted to keep her contained and confined to the room.

The chain was long enough so she decided upon attempting to reach the man she ultimately worked for. It was sad, she doubted he knew of her existence, she was a measly assistant on the lower levels, a quiet soul and totally invisible in a company made up of thousands. Often overlooked in all aspects of her life, she stood on slender shaky legs, not quite trusting her ability to walk straight. After a wobble or two, she regained her balance, noting for the first time, that she was dressed only in white panties and a thin camisole to match.

Squeaking, she snatched one of the many blankets off the bed, the one coloured beryl blue, and threw it round her shoulders, hugging it to her chest. It was silly, she scoffed at herself and she forgot about her situation for a brief moment, falling back into her lack of self-confidence and deeply rooted insecurities. A meek woman, it was enough to induce a brilliant scarlet blush and heat her body.

Sighing, she shuffled forwards, eyes flickering to the door as she approached her fellow captor. No matter how much she raked her brain, the logistics of her apparent abduction refused to shine through. The night before, she attended an office party but she kept to herself, preferring to slip into the role of wallflower and cut herself off after two glasses of red wine.

Then, there was nothing, a blackness and she felt her heart race as her mind attempted to conjure up a plethora of possibilities.

Mr Solo was distracting enough, his personal welfare a deep concern of hers. The chain allowed her enough leeway to reach him, dropping to her knees she gasped upon seeing him up close.

While she felt the full weight of her injuries, mostly contained in her head and ankles, they paled in comparison to his. One of his eyes was swollen shut, a deep black against the pale pallor of his skin. His top lip was nearly double the size of the bottom and split, while patches of dried vermillion coated his forehead. Someone had done a number on him and again, she wanted to throw up. Violence in any form positively terrified her but maintaining composure, she slid his dark hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear and leaned in closer, hovering just above him.

“Mr Solo.”

The man in question did not move a muscle. She had never been so close to any man, let alone one she had often fantasied about for years but she poised herself at his side and took hold of his hand, shaking it. His pulse drummed steady and true, a brilliant cadence against her fingertips so that offered some kind of relief.

“Mr Solo,” she cleared her throat and spoke louder.

That time, he did stir, he shot upwards and she flew out of the way, gasping and fell to the ground, landing hard on her back. Hissing, she cried out and rolled to her side, knowing another bruise would form.

“I’m sorry,” he rattled out quickly and offered his hand to her.

Like her, he was lacking in appropriate clothing. Whoever had done this had stripped them of most garments. His boxer shorts, plain black cotton, reached mid thigh but an ill-fitting shirt, overly baggy, swamped his frame. It was unlike the tight camisole she found herself in, it certainly was not hers, she lived in old band t-shirts or wooly jumpers the majority of the time. In reality, she was irrationally envious that he was provided with something to cover most of his body.

Ben peered down at her curiously, hand still outstretched and waiting. It seemed her staring had been noticed.

Peeking upwards, she felt the heat in her cheeks rise and embarrassment flood her system. Quickly blowing her hair out of her face, she curled her hand around his. It was hot, a comfort in the prison she found herself in.

Though he was injured and his face marred beyond even her comprehension, he attempted to smile and drew her off her feet and up towards him. Sighing, rubbing at his temple, he motioned for her to sit beside him.

“It’s Miss Kenobi, isn’t it? Rey?”

Startled, she could only nod, a meek gesture as her eyes fell to his lips, enjoying the way they formed her name. A tiny trickle of blood eased from where his bottom lip was split open. Resisting the urge to touch it, to make it better, she averted her eyes down towards her lap.

He knew who _she_ was.

“You can call me, Ben,” he added softly, plucking her blanket from the ground. Though he was tentative, he draped it around her once again.

“Thank you…Ben.”

The two fell into a mutual silence. Ben assessed his injuries, hissing, wincing and groaning when be came across a particularly tender spot. As a clumsy child, forever falling or injuring herself, she was well versed in first aid but the room was mostly empty and sparse which meant there was likely no medical supplies about.

“Do you know where we are? I can’t remember anything,” he whispered, eyeing her.

She shook her head, no.

The full extent of her situation hit her then and she felt the familiar tendrils of anxiety grip her. Her medicine cabinet was stuffed full of medication, a neat row of clear orange bottles with white tops.

Perhaps she depended on them too much, the dazed stares and slow thinking she had long become accustomed to.

Hyperventilating, she dropped her head into her hands, fisting her hair as she gasped for precious air but failed, feeling blackness seep into her vision. The bed shifted and she blinked, finding Ben on his knees before her.

“Breathe, Rey, it’s going to be okay. Follow my lead, breathe as I do,” he whispered and she gazed at him, his own eyes were laced with a frantic kind of fear.

Concentrating on the rise and fall of Ben’s chest, she inhaled, heaving in breaths when she could and after a while, she managed to do so in time with him. The panic was still there but she felt herself falling and freeing the chains around her chest.

“There we go, good girl.”

The praise was something foreign to Rey, she smiled and so did Ben, he took hold of her hands and pulled her to his chest as she resumed her normal pattern of breathing.

A hug, Ben Solo hugged _her_.

“You’re not alone,” he said, his voice firm and resolute.

“Neither are you,” she mumbled, clinging to him.


	2. BREAK

For hours, she clung to him.

The basement was drafty to match its cold, impersonal interior, detached of vitality or any semblance of life or hope. A bleakness clung to the pristine white walls and the clean tiled floor, weighing in as heavy as the chains secured to their ankles. 

An air vent, a small rectangular slot near the ceiling, much too high for either of them to reach, pumped blasts of cool air currents around the confined space, meaning the closeness between the two acted primarily as the preservation of body heat. It was likely a tactic used as a form of manipulation or a device to add to their hardship. The lack of control unnerved her, even if it was over the loss of something as simple as temperature regulation. Her toes were cold so she brought them upwards onto the bed, nestling closer to Ben and pressed them against his calves. The contact startled him but he offered assurance soon after. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured, shifting closer to her. He smelled like eucalyptus and pine needles which overrode the stench of blood and sweat. Masculine and heady, it acted like a balm.

It was oddly intimate.

For years, she had worked on the lower levels of Ben’s manufacturing company, an assistant typically unseen and never perused over. Not particularly fussed with garnering any kind of attention, she dressed practically in frumpy sweaters, flowy floral skirts and knitted tights, very different from the tailored suits and pencil skirts on the higher floors. 

Ben was the image of high class, his shirts always crisp and wrinkle free, his suits were all designer and expensive watches often adorned his left wrist. The pair had even shared an elevator ride on more than one occasion and that was when her fantasises of the enigmatic man right at the top of the company developed. Hiding behind her limp bangs and round, oversized glasses, she would sneak peeks at him, watching how his fingers moved across his phone screen as she rubbed the toes of her converse trainers together. It was innocent enough and he had never spared her a glance, not that she expected him to. Little was known of his personal life, he was quiet and reserved, only engaging with employees when necessary. Perhaps he was shy like her, a lonely soul despite all his wealth and prosperity.

Through their shared elevator rides at the end of the day, late in the evening when everyone else had raced home hours earlier, she learned little snippets of information about him. Ben liked his coffee black, the bitter aroma often followed him or he would clutch a fresh flask full of it close to his chest despite the late hour. His tie was always loosened by that time and once, she heard him humming ‘Moonlight Sonata’ under his breath, so she assumed he was a fan of classical music. It suited him well. She bought the record of the piano piece the very next day. 

Then, they never shared a conversation.

Circumstance forced their nearness now.

Though vulnerable and distressed, she attached herself to Ben’s side, fisting his shirt in a white knuckled grip and willed herself not to cry. Her initial sharp spike of panic had long since receded, washed away by the warmth of his body and electric touch. Sometime during it all, he started to card his fingertips through her hair, humming a pretty tune to sound the affectionate gesture. 

It was a distraction device, it had to be, but she shamefully enjoyed it, focusing on how his nails languidly breezed along her scalp before he fingered the strands, spreading them with his forefinger and thumb. 

No one had touched her like that before. 

The act almost put her to sleep but as she shifted, something blinked in her peripheral. Odd. Usually perceptive and attuned to her surroundings, she frowned and begrudgingly moved. Narrowing her eyes, she sat up; detangling her arms from around Ben’s wide middle and stood, swaying. 

“Rey?”

Ignoring him, she tiptoed across the room, dragging her blanket around her shoulders in an attempt to save some modesty. The knitted fabric, composed of soft wool, was nothing compared to the heat that radiated from Ben but still, she continued walking forward, straining her neck up towards the vent. 

A red dot shone through the metal slats, lighting up intermittently. She stopped breathing and felt a new wave of sickness gather in her gut. Cupping her mouth, she stepped backwards, right into Ben.

Jumping, she shrieked but quieted as soon as she realised the stupidity of it all. In everyday life, loud noises and sudden movements were often a cause of worry for her; she would scurry off like a little mouse and lock herself in a bathroom stall until her heart slowed down. The nervousness made people avoid her though they were never outwardly rude about it, they smiled and conversed cordially in regards to work but no solid friendships were ever formed, no one neared too close.

“Sorry,” Ben apologised quickly, peering down at her through his good eye.

The other was completely swollen shut by then, a nasty dark splotch on his face. It would take a while for him to heal and she worried that some of the damage could result in permanent scarring. The brutality shown against him was difficult to comprehend. 

“We’re being watched, there’s a…a camera up there,” she stuttered, falling over her words as she pointed up towards the vent. Her fingers trembled.

Frowning, his dark brows rose a fraction as he eyed the vent. The chain around his ankle clanked on the checker print tiles below their feet when he neared closer, inclining his head. The rise and fall of his chest became more apparent as time trickled by, Rey not quite trusting his quietness, stepped away from him.

“You’re right, what kind of monster would do this?” 

All of his prior calmness dissipated as she suspected their situation finally sunk in like some rude awakening that would cripple even the strongest of minds, she shattered easily but he did not. While she reacted with well-worn coping mechanisms that barely dipped below the surface, he opted for something hotter, boiling anger and fiery indignance. It contrasted with the composed figure she knew him to be. 

Ben snarled, gaze set upon the camera that watched their every move and drew his arm back, sending his fist into the wall. His knuckles crunched against the concrete, patterning the white in specks and crude imprints of blood. Panting and exhaling loudly, he swivelled, curling his hands around the thick chain and yanked, hard. The muscles in his arms bulged, his forearms strained as he tried in vain to free himself but it was no use, the metal was solid and unmoving. Alternating his method of frustration, he threw the chain at the ground, smacking it repeatedly against it.

“Let us out!” He bellowed, it echoed loudly around the room, it hurt her ears, the ripples like fierce little barbs piercing her eardrums.

Rey backed away, unable to look at him any longer. She retched, intolerant of violence. Her upbringing was unpleasant with parents that neither loved or protected her and chose alcohol over their daughter. It was a time she had spent so many years trying to erase from her memory through prescription pills, therapy and blatant denial, a strange kind of ignorance but flashes of it burst through her carefully constructed walls at the sight of bloodied knuckles and wild eyes.

Crying, she shuffled until she fell back into the bed she woke in and gathered the blankets, hiding beneath them. Still, Ben raged, cursing and grunting until his ragged breathing was the only thing she could hear. The tirade would not help them in the end, she could only assume their captor enjoyed seeing how he had ruined them but if it helped Ben, she would not resent him for his method. 

Curling up, she placed both of her palms on her ears and pushed them, applying pressure and drowned out the sounds that rampaged on around her. Her teeth ached with how hard she clenched them together. It was all too much. She wished she could disappear and blink herself out of existence or back home to her tiny apartment filled with cacti and old music records. Sometimes she would even burn incense, make chamomile tea and stuff her feet into some fluffy socks while reading, anything to stave off her crippling anxiety.

The thud of her heart kept her grounded but soon, she heard nothing at all. The mattress dipped and a hand entered the safe placed she had created. Mustering whatever strength she possessed, she did not jump or retreat away from it.

“I’m so sorry, Rey. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Ben seemed genuinely remorseful and although she had been lied to before, she decided to place her trust in him and open up. Sharing her insecurities and fears could only strengthen the two of them going forward so he would learn not to allow his anger to rule him. 

Swallowing hard, she swiped the tears away and slid her hand out towards his until their fingertips touched.

“Loud noises…violence, I can’t face them,” she admitted quietly. 

Silence lingered until he heaved in a deep breath.

“I lost my temper, I wish I were stronger but I think all of this hit me. Someone did this to us, Rey and they are watching. It’s hard to accept that. I feel like a caged lion.”

Sympathising, she uncurled her body and sat up, resting her chin on her knees. Ben appeared scared, so much more frightened than before, all wide eyes, wild but sad. His other hand rested on his thigh, bleeding freely. 

“We’ll make it out of here,” she said as confidently as she could though she was uncertain of her words. 

“Yeah?”

It was her time to be strong and to act as his distraction.

“Yes and we can blast the heat as high as we want.”

Ben smiled, slanting his face towards her.

“We could but admittedly, I don’t mind warming up the old fashioned way, Rey. I know it sounds sick but I’m glad I’m not alone, I’m lucky to have you here,” he laughed sardonically, shaking his head. 

“I know I sound ridiculous,” he continued, huffing.

He liked _her_ being close to _him._

He wanted _her_ there with _him._

For the first time in her life, someone wanted _her._

Rey readied herself to respond.

The room was suddenly shadowed in darkness, dimming with residual light. 

Behind them, the television flickered on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has decided to give this one a go. I appreciate you all <3


	3. MAKE

The static buzzed as the strip of light above them dimmed, leaving the basement in a hazy white glow and flickering shadows that climbed the walls. The crackling and droning fizzy hiss from the television served as a form of white noise though it was far from soothing.

It reminded her of times past, where she would scoot across the carpet until she was in front of the television, her nose skimming across the glass until she shuffled backwards, but just a bit. Late at night, that is where she sought shelter under a thin, ratty blanket full of holes and damp with tears. Under there, she sat, entranced by vivid colours and loud, jolly sing song voices, louder than the shouts and screams of her inebriated parents. No matter what happened, she kept her eyes trained on the television, even when her head hurt and aches riddled deep. No wonder she needed glasses. At some point, the movies would end and her old VHS player would groan as it ejected the tape. Static replaced everything, hushing the room. It was enough; it still fulfilled her need for distraction.

With bated breath, she gripped the mattress and pivoted her body so she could face the screen. It brought a strange kind of relief to her eyes, the brightness of the room no longer an issue for her; she preferred low lighting in most settings. Without her glasses, the vintage ones too big for her face that often slipped off her nose, she had to squint which would inevitably coax a headache forward. Anticipation crackled in her bones as time went on and they were left with no answers or change in the monotony of the void.

Ben’s jaw grew taut and stiff the longer the static played but his curious eyes never wandered away from the display. The intensity in his face was something typically unseen. All the times she had observed him, he maintained a quiet image of calmness but it was different now, he was tense and rightly so. 

The static was replaced by blackness and with heavy breathing at the root of the recording. A jostling camera tracked the heavy footfalls of dark work boots. The audio was warped, undoubtedly muffled by the recorder’s fingers handling the equipment incorrectly. After a while, the steps sped up, the breathing increased and the shot panned up, revealing Rey from the night before.

Cupping her mouth, sickened but unable to look away, she inched closer as the person gained on her and stabbed a needle into her neck before she could turn around or notice their presence. In the recording, she squeaked, yelping loudly and swivelled, her purse slipped off her shoulder and hit the ground, spilling the contents. 

Her eyes were unfocused as she swayed but the captor advanced, catching her before she fell, her limbs rendered limp and useless. It cut off and promptly shifted to another scene of Rey in the backseat of a vehicle, splayed out in the back, unconsciousness and an unaware of the terrors that awaited her.

The camera panned from her feet and trailed upwards, a slow ascent. The strained breaths sounded the morbid journey and a gloved hand shot into view. The leather squeaked as they trained a long finger up towards the valley of her breasts.

Shaking her head, Rey tore her gaze away, unable to stomach anymore. Feeling violated, she hugged her knees tighter to her chest, wanting nothing more than to scrub her skin raw and pink until her fingers were numb.

“They’ll never touch you again, not while I’m here.”

Ben was staring at her, his fists still bled, dripping on the tiled floor, the walls no longer pristine and blinding white, tainted by the crashing of knuckles and fury within him.

The words made her feel safe and secure. It did not matter that they were hidden away in some basement, with him, there came a certain kind of sanctuary and already, he slipped into the role of eager protector with a natural ease. 

Closing the gap between the two, she sniffled, not realising she had began to cry. Ben wiped away the tears with the softest of touches and the slow spread of his thumb. He ignored the initial flinch in reaction to his caress, physical contact with others had been almost ruined by heavy hands and sharp slaps but he was different. He could do no harm.

He pinned her with his good eye. It was bloodshot and heavy lidded but there was real concern there, the iris warm and dark like the coffee he loved.

A change in lighting broke their reverie. The recording morphed into a new scene and this time, Ben was the star and sole focus. Unlike Rey, he seemed quite intoxicated. At the party, she had seen him swirling top shelf scotch, nursing more than one glass in the duration of time she decided to stay at the annual office get together. Gathering up whatever memories she could, she recalled him lit up by colourful strobe lights, looser and smiling more than she had ever seen him do so before. It was hard not to stare at him being so jovial and sociable, clapping colleagues on their backs and laughing. At one point, he loosened his tie, the cerise one she was quite fond of, before he stuffed it in his pocket, formality and pristine image long forgotten with every drink consumed.

He stumbled, the click of his shoes echoed in the empty carpark as he swayed, plucking his keys from his pocket and jingling them at his side. Rey frowned; there was no way he was in any condition to drive. Beside her, Ben sighed and looked away sheepishly. 

As he neared the car in the recording, the person filming him sped up, closing the distance but clearly, Ben managed to hear their approach and turned to meet them. For a second, he wobbled, still quite gleeful and intoxicated, if the pink in his cheeks were anything to go by.

The person produced another needle and sunk it into Ben’s arm who immediately grabbed it, shuffling backwards. 

“What the-”

Ben stumbled into another car. Unlike Rey, he did not go down as easy and even managed to break out into a run though his escape attempt was severely hindered by the combination of alcohol and the drug in his system.

The abductor took chase, a metallic drag sounded through the speakers until a metal baseball bat came into frame. He grunted and swung it at Ben’s head. Ben immediately dropped to his knees, groaning and disorientated before another blow came down on his back. More hits were inflicted, a series of them came down on his face and it explained its current state.

Unable to witness any more, Rey hid her face into her hands and hummed, trying to ignore the fleshy sounds of Ben’s attack. The violence was barbaric and brutally overdrawn; it was a wicked overkill and telling of the passionate hatred behind the lens. Whoever had done this to them, loathed their being or wanted to see them suffer and their blood spilled. 

The video came to an end. 

Ben shook, his body trembling so viciously that the bed creaked below him. She felt inadequate or ill equipped to soothe him as he had with her. Nothing she could say would heal his wounds or change their circumstance and that line of thinking brought with it a bleak kind of misery, the kind that gnawed and buried itself deep.

Dropping her hands, she tentatively placed her hand on his knee, unsure if the contact was too intimate or unwanted. They had been closer earlier that day when he soothed her and she clung to him as if he was the only thing keeping her afloat. 

His breathing levelled almost immediately and he brought his hand down above hers, his palm skimmed her knuckles. 

“Good evening Mr Solo and Miss Kenobi, I trust you’re pleased with your accommodation.”

The modulated voice emerged from the television speakers, though the recording had ended, it froze on the scene of Rey’s crumpled form in the back of the car, unmoving and vulnerable. The words almost sounded robotic, devoid of any real emotion or a humanistic tone.

Ben scoffed, rising to full height and patted Rey’s hand before he came to a stop before the camera.

“I have money, whatever you want; I’ll give it to you if you let us go.”

There was a laugh, a gravelly, obnoxious sound.

“Your money is not going to help you here, Mr Solo. Now, Miss Kenobi, I’m going to offer a proposal to you which only you can answer, please don’t let Mr Solo influence your decision.”

Curious, Rey rose up and came to a stop beside Ben, trying to ignore the chafing around her ankle. Every little movement only exacerbated it more. 

“What is it?” She asked warily, peering up at the lens. Crossing her arms across her chest, she waited for a response.

“As we are both aware, you require daily medication to function and live a normal life. You’ve already experienced a panic attack here. I’m giving you the option to receive your medication for the duration of your stay.”

That sounded simple enough, a part of her lit up at the prospect of having access to the medication. Perhaps she relied on the pills too much, although they were all prescribed and her mental health monitored, years of usage had left her dependant on them. Sometimes she would question it and try to wean herself off them though it never lasted more than a day or two. One loud noise or a stare wandering too long in her direction would trigger overwhelming feelings of despair and the clear orange bottle would act as her most trusty option for reprieve.

“What’s the catch?” Ben huffed out.

“Always so forward, Mr Solo. Well, if Miss Kenobi chooses her medication, they will be delivered promptly but she can also opt for something else, something of use.”

“Like what?” Rey piped up.

“If you refuse your medication, other medical items will be provided that would aid in Mr Solo’s healing and recovery. Painkillers would be the centre of such a gift and a first aid box full of supplies for his injuries.”

Rey blinked, eyeing Ben in her peripheral.

“Rey, choose your own medication,” he urged.

“Now, Mr Solo, this is a decision for Miss Kenobi to make alone.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek and swallowed hard, taking Ben in. He was a mess and obviously in a great deal of pain. Without help, his condition could result in scarring or permanent damage. His hands still bled, pebbling the floor in droplets of blood.

It seemed the most viable option. Her medication meant she could cope with everyday situations but this was different. The depravity of it all could act as the push she needed to find new ways of functioning. She did not want to be zombified and almost incoherent to make it through this, she would need to keep a clear head, despite the promise of weighty withdrawals.

“I choose medical supplies for Ben.”

“Rey, no!” Ben was frustrated and rounded upon her, forcing her to look at him.

“Is that your final answer?” The voice questioned.

“Yes.”

There was no need to contemplate the matter further. Ben was in pain and in need of the items promised. Seeing him suffer further was not an option for her. 

“Thank you for cooperating, the supplies will be delivered shortly, Miss Kenobi. Your kind nature and generosity is something rarely seen in humanity these days and most admirable.”

Though the warped voice was impersonal due to the device used to hide the identity or any traits of the person speaking to them, they sounded genuinely fond of her. There was no jabbing or mocking in their tone like they had when addressing Ben. Maybe they would reveal more if she played along and acted in a cordial manner.

“Why are you doing this?” Rey asked, exasperated, wringing her hands out in front of her, a nervous habit that spanned most of her life. Pleading almost, she gazed up at the camera with wide eyes.

The television switched off behind their backs and left the room in darkness. They turned and saw only their own reflections staring back at them.

A voice emanated from the speakers.

“Because I can.”


	4. MISTAKE

The aftermath of the introductory conversation with their captor was tense. It was obvious Ben was far from pleased with her decision. While it was unbidden, she was sure and still thought right of it. It hurt her more than she could express, the coldness he exhibited was unexpected and wholly distressing as she valued his wellbeing and only wanted to ensure his healing. It did not feel as if she had doomed herself, in fact, it was quite freeing as for once, she felt in control despite her situation.

The room was still dark and only scarcely lit by the dimmed light overhead but she could see him on the floor, leaning taut against the wall and glaring towards the camera. In the time since the captor last spoke, she spied at least another two cameras, one hidden in the television itself with that telltale red light, blinking steadily.

For some odd reason beyond her comprehension, it did not unnerve her as much as she thought such information would. What were another few cameras? Privacy was no longer a human right she was entitled to and the sooner she accepted that area and the lack of control that came with it, the less her anxiety would cripple her. Of course, it was something she struggled to tolerate and she hoped that one day she would be released but until then, she would try to make the most of this predicament.

The prospect of going forward without medication did terrify her. Withdrawals would soon wreak havoc in her system as it acclimatised itself to functioning without her body being pumped full of chemicals. For years, it swallowed them happily, absorbing and devouring all of the artificial offerings. It was worth it, her suffering was inconsequential at that time, someone was in pain, the physical kind that was visible and impossible to ignore. The blatant show of hurt forced a confrontation within her.

For Ben, she would endure.

As a form of distraction, she rocked on the tips of her toes and weaved her fingers through her hair. It was limp and laden with sweat. Her bangs fell lifelessly over her face so she pushed them back and tucked them behind her ears. Irrationally, it bothered her. Typically overlooked in every day life, now, she was the centre of someone’s viewing. Too many times to recall, she had silently urged Ben to see her when they met in the elevator. The quiet insistence and persistence never paid off.

Now, he avoided her gaze, retreating into the confines of his mind but she understood his behaviour to some extent. Ben was noble in his intent to save her from her own kind of torment and she had crossed him. Had she betrayed him? Were they no longer a united front in the eyes of the captor?

Sighing, she dragged the blanket away from her frame and emboldened, stood, allowing it to pool at her feet. The air conditioning left her cold but she was unable to sit idle any longer. Avoiding the trails of blood, she sidestepped and ran her fingers along the walls; her bare feet slapped the checkered tiles below her.

It was soothing, feeling the coolness on her fingertips. For a while, she circled, feeling Ben’s eyes finally upon her. In her peripheral, she caught him eyeing her long, slender legs and in response to that, she felt her nipples harden against the thin camisole that revealed the soft curves of her hips, the sharp pinch of her waist and the gentle swell of her breasts. Though she was self-conscious, she knew somewhere in the back of her mind, her body could be seen as appealing. Since she ran for miles each day, her body was toned and athletic and year round, her skin exhibited a natural tan.

At one point, she thought she heard a sound, something between a strangled moan and the muffled clashing of a palm against lips. During her exploration, the chain around her ankle dragged but it was not in vain. Feeling a difference between two parts of the wall, she squinted, wishing for her glasses and knocked, listening to the hollow echo. The rest of the walls were concrete.

Furrowing her brow, she nudged at the panel. It creaked open, revealing a new room in their prison. A lemony citrus scent washed over her. Fumbling for a switch, she found one and the small space lit up, revealing a bathroom. Like the adjoining room, it was white and pristine. Tucked away in the corner of the room, sat a clawfoot tub that housed a power-shower. A clear shower curtain hung around the tub, resting around the rim.

She gulped.

Again, their privacy was breached. If she were to shower, the curtain would not cover, promote, or conserve her modesty. In response to such a thought, her cheeks flamed, the heat rose steadily and dropped past her stomach. Working her fingers in the hem of her camisole, she clenched her thighs together and attempted to wash the image of Ben seeing her, all of her, from her mind.

She shifted her gaze. There was also a porcelain toilet and sink near metal shelves lined with expensive bottles of shampoo, soaps and lotions. The chain allowed her unrestricted access so she shuffled forward and touched the towels nestled there too. They were soft and thick, obviously far from cheap.

It struck her as odd. Though she was kept captive and chained, the captor showered her with luxuries she could never afford outside of those walls. She was denied her freedom but the blow was softened to some extent and she could hardly understand it. Fingering a bottle of rose scented soap, she tilted her head, popping the cap and inhaled. It smelled heavenly, floral and sweet, she wanted to clean the filth of the day away with it.

“Who knew a monster could offer a reprieve of comfort like this?” Ben mumbled, leaning heavily against the door.

Rey jumped, flinching momentarily, as she had not heard his approach. Dropping her arms to her sides, she observed him, noticing how stiffly he walked and held himself. It was clear he could no longer conceal his affliction or soreness. Again, the way she chose painkillers and other supplies for him sat right.

“Perhaps he thinks it will make us acclimatise better to this situation,” she offered, placing the soap back in its rightful place.

Ben’s hot breaths fanned across her face, his breathing ragged and strained and his face contorted in pain from the short journey to her.

“You’re the only thing keeping me together in this; I don’t care about everything else.”

Ben gestured towards the offerings.

“Everything else means nothing.”

Her heart beat a beautiful genus of cadence. With little effort at all, he made her feel warm and wanted, feelings she was long unused to. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she grazed the flesh and eyed the floor between them; her eyes lingered on his legs, long and thick, strong and solid. When her gaze roamed higher to the black cotton boxers, she flushed and closed her eyes.

“I feel the same,” she whispered.

A metallic clank interrupted their moment; it was loud and echoed throughout the room. It startled her but she managed to compose herself. Ben grunted as he swivelled but she was in better condition than he was and rushed back into the main room, watching as the bottom of the door pushed out in the form of a metal drawer. It reminded her of a filing cabinet, the same kind of mechanism was utilised.

“Here are the supplies as promised. Each day, you will be provided with a fresh set of clothes, meals and water,” the modulated voice sounded from the speakers.

Before she could thank him, Ben rushed forward, grasped the drawer, and tugged it. It was already open so such a gesture was unnecessary.

“What are you doing?”

His hands gripped the handle and he pulled, hard.

“Release the handle, Mr Solo.”

What was he doing? Was he trying to somehow break or damage it? It seemed pointless; it would require a great deal of strength to even make a dent in the metal.

“If I broke this, you could climb through, it’s large enough for that,” he grunted, his biceps bulged against the sleeves of his shirt and sweat rolled freely. The metal whined as he pulled, the bolts jiggled.

“Final warning, Mr Solo.”

“Ben, stop!”

Ignoring her, he continued and planted his feet on either side of the drawer for leverage. Despite her earlier thoughts, it seemed as if he could inflict some kind of blemish on it.

“This will hurt,” the voice taunted.

A crackle broke through the room and Ben spasmed, falling to the ground like dead weight. He landed with a heavy thud, his back smacked against the floor. He convulsed for a moment, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he bared his teeth involuntary, his body went slack and then horribly rigid.

The buzzing stopped and finally, he went limp.

“Ben!”

Rey raced forward, falling to her knees beside him.

“The chains attached to your ankles have been modified. Mr Solo will recover, I assure you, Miss Kenobi. I merely sent a small jolt of controlled electricity through him.”

Ben’s body quaked with tremors as she pulled him into her lap and ran her fingers through his hair. His uninjured eye was wide and blank.

“Your chains will be removed when I deem fit. Until then, I will exercise this form of punishment if either of you deviate or refuse to follow instruction. I trust that will not be a problem for you, Miss Kenobi.”

“No! We’ll do what you say! Please, don’t hurt us,” she cried out, her palm rested upon Ben’s chest as he heaved in breaths.

“Please collect the supplies, Miss Kenobi and close the drawer.”

Though she did not want to leave Ben’s side, she did as she was asked, gently setting him down after she retrieved a pillow for his head.

She crawled towards the metal drawer. Inside was a large first aid box, four bottles of water and sandwiches. Lifting out each item, she raced to complete the task and set them down beside her before quickly shutting the drawer, pushing it closed. A click sounded from the door.

“Well done, Miss Kenobi, it seems you’re competent in following simple instructions unlike your boss.”

Breathing hard, she brought the water and first aid box to Ben who had roused significantly. Wordlessly, she tilted his head and helped him drink. He finished the water in seconds, gasping as thirst took hold of him.

She opened the box and the first thing she found was her glasses. She squinted, sure she had not seen them clearly or imagined them but the chunky, too large glasses were there, coloured a deep green. She put them on, enjoying the clarity that came with them. The gesture touched her, she appreciated it more than she would ever admit and for a moment, she simply stared at the camera in the television, trying to figure out the motive behind such a move.

Ben winced below her and it shook her from her abstraction. Setting her attention back to the box at her feet, she scoured the contents, finding it stocked plentifully with medical supplies, including the pills that were promised. There was a mixture of them, varying in strength and purpose. There were over the counter pills like tylenol, aspirin and ibuprofen but as she rummaged, she found oxycodone, vicodin and codeine. Due to clumsiness and countless trips to the hospital after a series of accidents, she was familiar with them all.

The name on the prescription bottles was removed but she read the instructions and the recommended doses carefully. After she read the labels a few times, she decided upon vicodin, having used it only a year before when she tripped, fell down the stairs and broke her leg.

With shaky hands, she dropped two of the white pills into her palm and looked upon Ben.

“Open your mouth.”

“No,” Ben mumbled, closing his eyes.

Rey blinked, eyes wet.

“Please, Ben. I can’t see you in pain anymore,” she begged, clutching his hand.

His good eye fluttered open and he stared at her, long and hard before nodding stiffly. He tensed up, undoubtedly reluctant to accept any form of help that came from her self-sacrificing ways.

Relief washed through her, the effect almost instantaneous. Again, she helped him, clutching him against her and popped the pills onto his tongue. Water quickly followed and he grimaced, swallowing hard and squeezed her fingers.

“Thank you, Rey.”


	5. ACHE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please refer to the updated tags.
> 
> This is a dark fic and this begins to show some more. I am aware it might make some people uncomfortable so I will do my best to update the tags chapter to chapter so you know what is ahead.

It did not take long for the medication to take hold of Ben. In his weakened state, he drifted, clinging to her hand and consciousness as long as he possibly could before succumbing to a chemical induced sleep.

Shortly before he did so, she had helped him stumble to his bed, shouldering most of his weight as he bore down on her but she managed well enough. Ben lay sprawled out on his back, arms spread limply at his sides. The bed was large enough to accommodate him and the mattress was plush but firm so she hoped no further aches would trouble him.

For a while, she observed him, finding peace in the steady rise and fall of his expansive chest and the little rhythmic breaths that escaped his parted lips. Allowing herself some indulgence, she kneeled and rested beside him. Cautiously, she cupped his jaw, mindful to avoid the worst of the bruising and smoothed her palm against it. Her thumb trailed against his bottom lip, feeling the bloody split there, a nasty cleft and stain against his otherwise full, unblemished flesh.

Frowning, she tucked away the memories and fleeting images of his assault and instead sat back on her feet and dragged the first aid box towards her. It was a hefty thing, bulky and metallic and coloured pine green with a white cross upon the lid. After a short search, she found saline solution, cotton balls and lip balm.

Before she proceeded, she trailed off into the bathroom and washed her hands thoroughly. The soap was cucumber and aloe scented, a combination she found herself enjoying. Wanting to make sure there was minimal risk of contamination or infection, especially because it was an open wound, she scrubbed them three times until her hands were tinged pink. Drying them, she approached him again and picked up the saline. Salt was known for its healing properties and it usually sped up the already prompt healing of mouth or gum injuries so she soaked the cotton ball, feeling the cool liquid saturate the cotton and then lightly dabbed it over his lips.

He did not stir so she took her time and applied pressure, hoping more than anything that all of his injuries would heal quickly. Using some antiseptic wipes, she warily wiped any excess blood from his stubbled chin and smooth forehead, realising just how gruesome the thunderous bruises were under all of the blood.

An involuntary shiver raked through her body and her nausea returned, unwilling to contain the wretched feeling of despair that gnawed at her insides. No one deserved such ill treatment, especially Ben. It was abhorrent and unjust. Shaking her head, blinking away sadness, she used her warm pinkie finger to scoop up some lip balm. It was the plain kind, no artificial scents or unnecessary glamour. She shook as she applied a liberal dose to his lips but she was precise in her application, ensuring she coated them properly.

Satisfied with her initial care of him, she packed away the supplies, arranging them just as neatly as they has arrived and then tucked the box under the bed. Like her own, it was layered heavily with blankets of varying thickness and size so she chose the largest one and draped it over his body, making sure that he was entirely covered.

Yawning, she felt the events of the day creep up on her so she stalked towards her own bed, only to find herself unable to do so. A loose hold on her wrist stilled her. Peering over her shoulder, she found Ben gazing up at her, his good eye glassy and unfocused.

“Please, stay with me,” the hoarseness and vulnerability in his tone shook her.

Of course she would, she was going to sleep in a bed, mere feet away from him.

“I’ll be right over there.”

“Join me,” he whispered, extending his hand towards her.

Sluggish, he dragged himself across the bed leaving a space unoccupied beside him. It was difficult to deny his request when he begged like that but the implication, the whole idea of it, meant so much more to her. For years, she had dreamed of him, silently admiring him and yet here he was, arms open wide and waiting for her.

Nodding slowly, she tiptoed across the room and settled on the mattress, feeling it dip below her slight weight. Ben hummed in encouragement, the same kind of content sound she was used to when they shared elevator rides. Adjusting herself, she lay down with her back to him.

The heat radiated from his hulking body and she was drawn to it. Tucking her feet between his calves, she shuffled closer until his hands came upon her waist and tugged her closer. She withheld a yelp, surprised and taken aback by his forwardness but he was under the influence of a potent painkiller and she reminded herself he was likely not thinking rationally.

“I’ll warm you up,” he half slurred, resting his chin on her shoulder and his nose deep in her hair.

She was wickedly hot, her heart beat violently but he seemed unperturbed and brought his thighs up underneath her own, leaving little room between them. She gulped, unable to move an inch in his iron hold, not that she wanted to, until his breathing levelled out and sleep found him once again.

Closing her eyes, she let out the breath she did not know she was holding and relaxed. The dim light turned off entirely, leaving the basement in stark, encompassing darkness which meant that soon she too drifted, lulled by the steady throb of Ben’s heart at her back until she fell, sleep gripping and pulling her into unconsciousness.

* * *

Hot.

Unlike the day before, she was almost unbearably warm. It reminded her of hot and sticky summer afternoons when tugging the sleeves of her sweaters up to her elbows did little to stave off the heat.

For a blissful moment of ignorance, she forgot herself and the nightmare she had woken up in. In those fleeting seconds, she was free, no chains or walls could contain her and sun would spill freely over her skin and prepare her for the day ahead.

Reality reared its ugly head.

Something hard poked in between her thighs. It was slotted there, fixed and sliding under her damp panties. Cupping her mouth, she withheld a gasp, careful not to shift and wake Ben. His breathing was low, the kind that came with sleep, yet he had clamped his hands around her waist in a secure hold and clung to her as he languidly shifted his hips against her.

This was new for her.

Though a fully grown woman, she was a virgin at twenty four years of age but it was unmistakable what was between her legs despite the cotton material covering it. It was hot, hard and desperate, straining against the confines of his boxer shorts. She was wet, wetter than she had ever been in her entire life. After a moment, all his movements ceased and he sighed into her hair, dragging her closer to him, he was a fleshy prison and her a compliant prisoner.

Willing her racing heart to calm, she lay there for a while, pent up and frustrated, confused but wanting more. The ache between her legs and copious wetness urged her to continue and seek release. The room was dark and so she fell in on herself, her body alight with sensation since her other senses were deprived of all other stimulation. Requiring no further encouragement, she experimentally rolled her hips, dragging herself across his hardened length.

It felt good.

Despite the odd angle, it hit all the right places, the crotch of her panties was its main encounterment. There was guilt there, the filthy kind that would likely haunt her. She was using the body of her boss, the man of her deepest infatuations, for her own pleasure as he rested peacefully.

It was wrong but it felt so right.

It was what she desired, a quiet little thought that emerged from the hidden depths of her mind. Bracing herself, she clutched the blanket and rocked again, making sure to pay special attention to positioning herself just right so his hard cock would skim through her folds and brush against her clit.

Black cotton slid against wet white cotton.

It coaxed something forward, a being with hedonism at the front of their mind with no real care of the source. The friction was divine, it tickled. Though her movements were slow and drawn out in an attempt not to wake him, she was fast becoming undone as he nudged her just right, hitting the right spots that made her toes curl into his toned calves. Squirming, she rutted against him like a tamed beast.

Withholding a whimper, she buried her face in the pillow, overcome with everything him. Like this, she could smell him, practically taste his feverishly warm skin after a night of sleep. Again and again, she lowered and shifted her hips, wanting nothing more than to switch positions and have him hover above her and rub himself exactly where she needed him...maybe even more than that.

It was a dream though, in reality, she was unseen, nothing to him, a mere nobody and so she would grasp onto the moment while she could, though it would eventually slip through her fingers just like everything else did. Everyone left eventually, no one stayed with her. Huffing, she pushed those dark thoughts from her mind and thought of better things, of the arms wrapped around her and his fingers she wished to put to better use.

The bed creaked just a little.

Flushed, cheeks pink with arousal, she slipped her own fingers down the length of her body and applied some pressure, careful not to touch Ben. His cock pulsed below her, he was still hard and so she thumbed her clit and rocked again until finally, she came.

It washed over her, hard.

Panting, she managed to quietly extract herself from Ben’s grasp, desperately hoping she had not woken him. Navigating in the darkness was not too hard though her limbs were light and her head floaty in the post orgasmic bliss and daze. It was then she noticed that the chain around her ankle was gone, a strange allowance of freedom in their prison. It meant that their captor likely visited them as they slept and that was difficult to accept.

Tapping the wall, she nudged it open and quickly entered, shutting it behind her. After she turned on the light, she walked towards the sink and twisted the tap until a rush of cool water splashed out. Cupping some, she patted down the back of her neck and face, ignoring the mirror in front of her.

“What have I done?” she whispered, suddenly overcome with the guilt she knew would come.

Using Ben that way was wrong.

She was sick, she knew it, she had always known it. Never able to relate to most people, she always felt different and odd, she saw the world with a different mind and in a contrasting light, a point reiterated through a string of therapists and doctors alike. Even her parents suspected there was more to it when they were coherent, staring at her as if she was not meant to be there.

Sometimes she would tell herself she fell from the stars, that she was native of some other planet full of an alien species who would understand her and welcome her back with open arms. Perhaps they scoured the galaxy for her, searching for their fallen stardust.

Blinking back tears and swallowing rising bile, she finally glared at herself in the mirror. She was a mess.

“Naughty girl,” came the same modulated voice from behind the mirrored glass.

Shaking, she deduced there was a camera there too, a speaker included.

Panicking, she fisted her hair and began to pace the length of the room. This was her hell, she deserved this.

“Please don’t tell him, I’ll do anything!” She begged, half hysterical.

The hyperventilation began, gasping for air, she wanted nothing more than to fill her veins with valium and float away.

“Breathe, Rey. Your secret is safe with me.”

It was the first time her captor addressed her by her first name. She snapped her head in the direction of the mirror, tilting her neck and found she could breathe easy then. Inhaling shakily, she walked towards her reflection.

“Why? Tell me why you’re doing all of this.”

A short silence followed.

“We all have our secrets, Rey.”

“That’s not good enough!” She half yelled, digging her nails into her palms in an effort to stop herself from letting her hand fly like Ben’s the day before.

This was not her, loud and violent, she was livid. Angry at herself, the world and him.

“Calm down or I will make you quiet.”

“How? What could you possibly do? Are you going to shock me too? You removed my chain.”

“No, I will electrocute Ben some more.”

That was enough to hush her..

Tears flowed freely then.

“I think you’re dirty after your naughty tryst. I heard it all, the way you sighed and whimpered when you came, the squeak of the bed. The cameras are night vision activated so I even saw your face when you came all over your boss.”

Ashamed, she stared down at her feet, cheeks red hot.

“Time for a shower, Rey. You’ll be provided with some new clothes today, I don’t want to leave you in wet panties.”

The words sliced right through her but oddly, she appreciated that she would be able to change. But did it come at a price? Would he watch her shower? She had never been naked around a man.

“Will you be watching me?”

“No, not if you don’t want me to.”

She believed him, she did not question his honesty.

“I would appreciate some privacy, thank you,” she mumbled.

“As you wish.”

Nodding, she walked towards the shelves and chose the soap that smelled like roses and the matching shampoo.

Maybe she go wash away her guilt alongside the dirt and grime of her imprisonment.

She set the bottles on the shower shelf and twisted the dial, pushing a few buttons and a strong spray fell, hot. Steam enveloped the small space.

Gazing around the room a final time, she bit her lip and bent, pulling her panties down her legs and stepped out of them. Her camisole followed.

She stepped in and stood there, silent and unmoving, simply enjoying how the heat cleansed her. It burned a bit but she could handle it.

Her back was to the mirror and door. Over the sound of the spray, she thought she heard a creak and the metallic clank of a chain yet she ignored it, just wanting to feel clean again.

Throughout it all, she could not shake the feeling that someone was watching her but she did not turn, hoping it would absolve some of the gnawing shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a lil sick 
> 
> *hides*
> 
> Creepy Rey though ;)
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts about the whole um sleep thing, I know it was wrong of her but HNNGH.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	6. AWAKE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the wait. I had to dig deep for this one to fully sink into Rey’s mindset. She is all over the place at times.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

For nearly an hour, she stood in the shower, taking her time to cleanse herself all over. The rosy scent was a delight to her senses, the lather a beautiful gift to her once sweat ridden skin. It reminded her of home and simple things that would make her feel less like a caged monster and a little more human. When her fingers dipped between her legs, she found herself still achingly sensitive but she did not act upon her desires. Cleaning there was nothing more than a mechanical need, detached from all else. 

The water was scalding, a torrid stream of high pressure, reminiscent of the same kind that spoiled and ran rampant in her mind. Throughout the duration of her mindless scrubbing and sudsing of her body, she was consciously aware of a presence, meaning she was not alone. 

Eyes burned into the back of her head and lower.

Pinpointing another camera in the shower-head, there was the possibility that more than one man watched her movements, too clumsy and lifeless to fall under anything more than a lonesome slow dance.

The creak of the door and the dragging of a chain had first alerted her to Ben’s appearance in the doorway. For a while, he simply stood, unmoving. In turn, she did not acknowledge him though his attentions were not entirely unwanted and she willingly allowed him to stay. Only minutes before, she had used him in such a basic way while he slept as she chased a shameful release.

The water washed the sordid evidence away but some traces could never be erased, her own experiences and continued struggles were prime examples of how hurt ran deep. Yet, nothing worked to to claw them out, they burrowed below the surface and their roots infected her.

As she massaged the back of her neck, running the soap along the junction between it and her shoulder, she began to hum ‘Moonlight Sonata’ under her breath. It was little more than a feeble attempt to escape the moment as new thoughts came into question. The clear shower curtain gave Ben a nearly unobstructed view of her body, one she had always hid in ill fitting clothes that practically hung off her. 

So, under under the bright fluorescent lights that bounced off the equally bright white walls, she trembled as she wondered if he liked what he saw. In everyday life, no one spared her a second glance. But, now a man who had been the object of her infatuation observed her keenly. Did he want her like she ached for him? Did he grip the doorway in an effort to remain rooted in place so he would not take her by surprise and make her feel wanted for the first time in her life?

Perhaps he was a slave to his mind like she was. Maybe it took all of his self restraint not to swarm her and wrap those long fingers around her waist and rut into her with abandon, a step further and natural escalation of what she had subjected him to.

What if he had been awake when her willpower and restraint failed her? She envisioned him waking to find her climaxing over his thick, hard cock, the length both impressive and stimulating. A part of her clung to that scenario with white knuckled fists. It would absolve her in some warped sense and she could pretend he was a willing participant who urged her to take whatever she wanted from him and more.

Wishful thinking.

It made her feel considerably less sick.

Mustering the flickering embers of her shallow, almost non existent confidence, she sidestepped, ready to greet him but the slight movement spooked him and the trance slipped away. A rushed shuffle, a metallic clank, the closing of a door and he left her.

The rational part of her knew that he did so to hide his own shame or to run from the potential humiliation that would come with her finding him in there with her.

That line of thinking did very little to appease her.

His flight hung heavy, as if he did not want her.

Thrown, she stumbled about, turning off the shower and grabbed one of the larger towels, securing it under her armpits. Suddenly overcome with physical sickness, she lurched forward, flipping the toilet lid up. It rattled against the porcelain base.

Hunched over the toilet, fingers wrapped around the bowl, she dry heaved and then brought up some acidic bile that stung her throat and coated the inside of her cheeks and tongue. The taste was disgusting, a sharp, tangy zest she could hardly tolerate. All of her humiliation and shame left her. Poison had licked her gut but now she was free of it, a fragmented shadow of herself amongst white.

With her stomach in knots, she lay slumped there, weakened by the exertion of bringing nothing up but putting everything into it.

A soft knock echoed in the tiny room but it still startled her as unexpected things usually did.

“Rey?”

Ben had chosen the worst opportunity to check on her. More than ever, she wanted to curl up and disappear, blink out of existence and save him from seeing her so weak yet again. Picking herself off the tiles, she stood and waited with bated breath.

“Are you okay? You’ve been in there a while, some food and water has been delivered.”

Approaching the door, she flipped her hair out of her face and opened it, just a fraction. Ben was flush against it.

In his hands were clothes for her, real clothes…her clothes. Immediately recognising her favourite sweater, a cosy thing with threads of varying shades of blue, she grabbed it, inhaling deeply.

Home.

To accompany it were some leggings, white panties and thick wooly socks, the ones she had knitted last winter, tiny stars adorned them. The yellow specks were somewhat crooked and sloppy but she loved them no less. 

Imperfect little things.

“I’ll just go get changed,” she supplied.

Closing the door, she dropped the towel and kicked it aside, wasting no time in changing. After she combed through her hair after finding a brush, she found her gaze falling on the mirror.

“Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome, Rey.”

Was it odd of her to thank the monster behind the glass, a substitute for a mask? Maybe so. The gesture showed compassion in a basic sense. But it did cross her mind that it might come from a person with malevolent intentions. Had he wished to lure her into some semblance of comfort before he made his next move and turned her world upside down and askew once again? She could not tell. It barely mattered anymore.

Bracing herself on the rim of the sink, she inclined her head, feeling the muscles strain against her skin and loosen.

“Imagine smiling after a slap in the face.”

Her words spilled without thought or consequence.

No reply came. 

Disappointed and sore, tired and then some more, she sniffed, brushing her teeth to rid her mouth of the bitterness, spitting a bit too harshly, nasty, spiteful. 

When she let herself back into the main room of their cushty prison, there was talking until the modulated voice abruptly cut out.

“We’ll continue our discussion later, Benjamin.”

“I didn’t know your name was Benjamin.”

Seemingly unaware of her presence before, he spun to face her, looking a little too on edge. After a quick clearing of his throat, he fisted his hands by his side until his knuckles cracked and whitened.

“It’s not a name I’m particularly fond of.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

The tension was palpable, both had wronged the other but neither seemed willing to address it but the guilt remained, not quite as heavy as before. She flushed it away, burying it deep so she could breathe easy in ignorant bliss.

If she thought hard enough, she could still feel the warm imprint of his cock between her legs.

“I mean, if you want to call me by it, you can,” he offered, palming the back of his neck.

It hit her then. This was something intimate.

“I’ll call you whatever you wish me to.”

Realising the implication of her words, she felt the heat rise high and hot in her cheeks. Lowering her gaze, she nodded to herself. No, she did not regret her words. Through his one good eye, he scanned her face, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times but ultimately saying nothing.

Deciding to save him the trouble, she offered him an olive branch in the form of a question, a simple one she wished to know the answer to.

“What were you two talking about?”

Curiosity killed the cat but she was no cat. Death did not breed black fear in her.

“Nothing of importance, I don’t really want to discuss it.”

It cut her-deeply.

“Okay.”

Were they not supposed to share any information gathered about the captor with one another? 

Like thunder crashing in the dark, there came an uneasy silence and so she ground her teeth in an effort to hold her tongue. It might have been an overreaction, she could not quite discern what was normal behind the four white walls. Socialising was not her forte and her experience left her competence in the area lacking with something to be desired.

The wound still ached though, that was real, she was sure of it.

Her empty stomach rumbled, gurgling loud and angry. It had been a while since she had eaten. Sometimes she forgot to nourish herself while occasionally she would consume too much until her belly hurt. 

Following her nose, she spotted more bottled water and food on a plate. It was another thing to occupy her mind and distract her from thoughts lingering at the fringe of her mind.

On a large white plate, sat a stack of pancakes piled high, drizzled in a sweet and salty mixture of yellow butter, syrup and chocolate sauce. There were two plates so she plucked one up, leaving the other one for Ben and grabbed a water bottle.

The mattress dipped with her slight weight as she set everything down. The water came first, she guzzled it down, gasping by the end of the task. Not bothering with utensils, she dug into her food, tearing it apart with her fingers into little pieces before plopping them into her mouth.

In her peripheral, Ben pointedly avoided the offerings and sat on his own bed instead. It remained that way until she had her fill, making sure to swipe the empty plate clean and leave no leftovers, every bit of sauce and syrup was sucked from her fingertips.

The silence almost bothered her, almost.

But there was nothing to say, nothing to tell, apparently.

The food weighed heavy in her stomach as time trickled by. Ben sat with his head in his hands, legs crossed and elbows planted on his kneecaps. 

Choosing to stand, rather than to sit idle on the bed, she leaned against the wall and trained her gaze on him. 

She felt odd.

“Rey, I need to apologise for earlier, I shouldn’t have-”

Suddenly stunned with a staggering sense of dizziness, she stumbled backwards until she bumped against her bed, eventually toppling back onto it. For the first time in a long time, she was light and did not fight it, she could fly free and bask in her high. The sensation was something she recognised well, a flight for when she could not fight.

A very panicked Ben raced over to her but she only laughed, feeling the sedation take effect. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. Their captor kept her medication locked away, something her mind and body relied on in some sense to function after years of regular and frequent use. Yet, he pumped her full of other similar things.

The room spun. The drug’s fingers tickled her limbs, gripping her hard and fast, rendering them light and useless. 

It was a chemical embrace of an old friend, another lie she had been fed. 

With a tenderness unfamiliar to her, Ben cradled her head, speaking animatedly but unheard. His words failed to penetrate. The light on the ceiling haloed him until she saw double, two sets of rapidly moving lips and wide eyes. The sound of her racing heart outperformed his words. All of his prior composure was scattered, he shook her but she giggled, a soft, lazy sound that consumed and sapped up too much of her remaining energy. Frantic hands pulled her upwards as he hugged her to his chest, his thick arms encased her and kept her safe.

Warmth of the most basic kind overcame her, swathed in pine and goodness, it felt like a new home. It sent the dark underneath.

Closing her eyes, she drifted, lost and swallowed but anchored-kept afloat by Ben alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked if Rey is a reliable narrator and I will let you ponder it.
> 
> Is she? Do you think she is reliable? Can you trust her thoughts and judgement?


	7. ALONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologise for the delay. Things in the fandom have been trying.
> 
> Please refer to the updated tags as you read.
> 
> A huge thank you to my DR gals, you keep me going<3
> 
> And I could never forget all the support I get from CaP and TWD.
> 
> And a thank you to all who read and comment <3

Waking was difficult, even more so than usual.

Nights were typically spent tossing and turning until she managed to fall into a fitful sleep. Mornings were not something she greeted with a smile, tomorrows just always seemed like a guarantee she was forced to endure. Especially since she saw the beginning of each day long before the sun made an appearance. Darkness always seemed to creep up on her, a constant she could never quite break free of. 

Sprawled out, she spun.

The turning was not a slow spiral, no, it was jolting her like ocean waves in the eye of a storm, carrying her to places unknown.

Whatever she had been drugged with was strong. There was little doubt about that. It left her mouth full of unseen cotton and her head angry, it throbbed. The worst of it came from her temple, a deep pain that pulsed menacingly, a little suffering she was tired of. Barely over a day in and she was exhausted of it all.

Her limbs were heavy as if weighted down with dead lead but eventually she could move, though it took some time as her awareness slowly filtered through the fog in her mind. Each of her legs were acting like unwilling and uncooperative partners forced to dance but neither quite making the commitment. 

Floaty, like a plastic bag caught in languid wind.

It reminded her of times when swallowing Valium was her last resort to pull herself through the day, a slow drudge, she was walking knee deep in mud. She could not sink, not in this place and so she mustered all her strength, ignoring vertigo and frailty. 

With a babbled wince, she pulled herself across the mattress, her blunt nails sunk into the memory foam layer, more laughable expense for a prison. Blinking, still bleary eyed, she managed to peel her eyes open despite it taking some time to adjust to her setting.

It was bright and blinding.

After squeezing her eyes shut and then opening them again in an effort to clear her vision, she soon realised that something was not quite right, he was missing and she all by herself. Solitude crushed her.

Ben.

Abandonment crippled her, he promised her that she was not alone in all this. The air rushed out of her lungs but barely anything sounded from her lips. A silent affair, she tried to keep her grief locked inside tight but it slithered outwards, slipping through her splayed fingertips like hourglass sand, cementing the passage of time without fail or any stoppage in sight.

Panicked, she clambered to her feet, stumbling and nearly tripping as she rushed to the bathroom. There was nothing graceful about it, the act was a desperate one, her shoulder rammed at the door so she could barge her way in. It gave way, swinging open wide. The forward momentum carried her off her feet and prompted a fall, it happened so suddenly that she could scantily catch herself. Bare knees absorbed most of the impact. Thin wrists and the heels of her hands soaked up the rest. A tolerable kind of pain but jarring nonetheless. 

It did little to deter her from frantically scanning the confined space, seeking out blackened eyes and whispered reassurances. The man she quickly came to depend on was what she needed, despite the betrayal she felt the day before, the captor wedged between them and crawled under her skin. The paranoia was real. Trust was a delicate balance and whoever stood on the scales could always launch it high.

Empty.

Nothing.

The pain blooming in her knees was somewhat alleviated when she stood, using the sink for balance. Shifty eyes scanned the room again but the conclusion remained the same.

Only her reflection stared back at her.

The same fearful girl, too frazzled and funny looking. 

She appeared sick, she was sick.

Closing her eyes, she exhaled heavily and wet her hands, gulping down some of the tap water. 

“You did this,” she spat out.

She glared pointedly at the mirror.

No response.

Indignant, she stomped through to the main room and began to pace. When that no longer calmed her down, she took to pressing herself against the wall. Flattening herself there, she hummed, feeling the room grow warm with every passing second. The cool concrete soaked up some of her body heat. 

After shedding her jumper, deciding it too hot, she scowled, pulling her hair away from her face. Arms outstretched, she stood in the middle of the room and counted the steps to which it took to cross the room. Sixteen total. Was the room smaller than before? She could not tell but she continued her counting, first memorising the number of checkered tiles that composed the floor. Starting with the black, she hopped on them, muttering aloud and then moved onto the white. She repeated the action six times until she believed the results.

Since she was a child, distraction had always been her go to way to cope with stress. It was not particularly healthy in some cases, she acknowledged that but it was easy to veer elsewhere and take her troublesome thoughts with her.

If she thought too much about Ben’s disappearance, it would likely prove too much to deal with. Nothing seemed permanent in her life. People came and went without backward glances. 

But what if there was something more sinister behind it all, even more dark than the brutal set of abductions that had started this new life of hers? Ben had held her so lovingly when she came under the influence of the drugs, the worried look in his eyes had to be genuine, there was no faking that kind of visceral reaction. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“Are you?”

It caused her to seize up. Frozen to the spot, she just managed to turn her head to the television, back pressed firmly against the wall.

The voice echoed through the room, ringing in her ears.

All of her anger and pent up frustration centred on one target. He took Ben away.

“Where is he?”

“You’ll have to clarify.”

It irritated her and made her feel like the caged beast he expected her to act like. So she sat on Ben’s bed, grabbing the blankets that still smelled like him, just to tell herself that he had been there. None of it had been figments of her imagination, conjured up situations to aid in her acclimatisation. No, he had been solid and clear, she could still feel his hands wrapped around her middle and his cock between her legs.

There was no faking that kind of warmth and want.

His blood still stained the floor below her feet, from when knuckles flew and skin cracked, bleeding freely.

A part of him remained.

“Ben Solo,” she yelled out, not caring how utterly impetuous and audacious she sounded.

Her voice had gone underutilised most of her life but it was there and she had to use it. It broke her own set of rituals regarding noise, it hurt her ears, the loudness and brash, barking voices but it was the only thing she could own behind the four walls.

“Benjamin! Is that enough clarification for you?”

“Benjamin was…less than cooperative when he realised that the food and water had been drugged. He would not comply with instructions so I removed him-forcibly.”

He did _not_ leave her.

Ben did _not_ leave her willingly.

“Give him back, please.”

It did not bother her that she was reduced to begging, not one little bit.

“I suppose I could do that…but I need you do something for me.”

“Anything,” she said, resolute, kneeling in front of the television. Her reflection peered back at her.

The screen flickered on.

“I want to play a game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say I thought this up after watching Saw.
> 
> I promise the next chapter will be longer with a lot more substance.


	8. ATONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please refer to the tags.
> 
> The game begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologise for the wait. I will not bore you with excuses but I am now excited and confident about this fic. I have an estimated chapter count up too!
> 
> PLEASE read through the updated tags. These will span the duration of the fic as a whole and I do not wish to catch anyone off guard, if this is not for you, I will take no offence in your choice to stop reading it.
> 
>  
> 
> **A special thank you to LoveofEscapism, my wife, my soulmate & love, I could not have written this without her. I have never had a beta before but while I panicked and overthought, she reassured me by editing this & making it what is it. I love you 🖤**
> 
>  
> 
> Again...read the tags but specifically in this chapter, there is mention of torture, physical/emotional, aquaphobia (fear of water) the mention of corpses and fatal drug overdose in the past.
> 
> This is a horror/dark fic and I realise it might be tough to stick with so please, be mindful of the tags/note warnings.

“I want to play a game.”

The cold words resounded in her head, a repetition of lingering whispers that grew louder by the second. It brought dread, the kind that made her break out with unparalleled anxiety. Slick sweat dribbled down her brow, wetting it and her fingertips trembled against her thighs in a string of rapid jolting taps. She could hardly think.

“What kind of game?”

Desperation overcame her entire being and the question tumbled out as little more than a quiet wobble of garbled words. Before any response sounded from the speaker, the image on the screen brightened, warping from the static filled picture that pulled her into a hypnotic state and threatened madness if she stared too much. It made her squint and the familiar feeling of her senses temporary overloading came forth like an unprovoked attack but she adjusted and in time, everything cleared.

It was hugely confrontational, an unexpected sight that almost made her long for blindness. Clawing her own eyes out seemed like a better option but when she closed them, the image remained, imprinted and thoroughly stained in her mind. A residue that would forever stick.

Peering forward, she saw Ben strapped to a chair in the middle of an unfamiliar room, quite unlike the immaculate space she currently occupied. The difference made her nose crinkle and her stomach roll. The depraved mind of their captor was a puzzle box she could not complete, no matter how much she attempted to fiddle or conjure a solution.

While the tiles gleamed in her white prison and she wanted for very little, the other room appeared dank with caged in walls so tight, completely boxed in, it acted as the epitome of a claustrophobic nightmare. Just observing it made her chest tight and her eye twitch.

The tiny area seemed that much smaller due to the tank’s size and its placement right in the centre of the room. With tall, clear walls, accented with metal strips running along the sides and adjourned with bulbous bolts, it promised hurt. Ironclad. The hazy green light flared dimly, fluctuating sporadically but even with the low visibility, she could still make out the shape of Ben. She would know him anywhere.

Yelping, she groped either side of the television, pressing her nose to the glass as she released a series of shaky exhales, the moisture from her face painting the screen. A new source of terror brewed coldly inside of her. Not only had her lifeline in this hell been snatched away from her, he was now in imminent danger and suffering, something she could barely comprehend or tolerate. If she could have sat in his place, she would have. She would sacrifice herself over and over if it meant he was safe.

Kneeling backwards, she sat on the balls of her feet and kept a firm hold on the television. The urge to hide her eyes with her forearm and shield herself from any further distress was nearly all encompassing but she could not do that, she could not leave him alone. So instead, she faced her fears head on, centring herself by collecting all the courage she could muster.

“Ben,” she whimpered, the weak sound bordering a cry.

The light in the room he was kept in steadily increased in brightness until she could clearly see how his head whipped around in search of her. His eyes wild, wanting… scared.

“He can hear you. I thought it would make things more interesting.”

Glaring at the voice’s intrusion, she seethed but did so quietly. In that moment, she walked along a tightrope, far from steady or confident. One tiny mishap or movement could end with a fall but it would not be her own, she was responsible for Ben and that weight caused an inward curl of her shoulders. There was no safety net waiting for either of them. They only had each other.

Huffing, she bit her lip and blew her bangs out of her eyes, in some ways, she was glad her glasses were in the bathroom, she did not want to see anything like the horror in front of her with complete clarity. Maybe that way she could pretend it was all a blurry dream that she would wake from. Too often, she relied on tiny pills to make her waking hours a haze that bordered the fringe of reality. Something bearable. Something she could handle.

Now, she was wide-awake.

Sobered, she calmed herself until she no longer shook with fear. It would not help Ben for her to act like her usual self, the jumpy woman who was reduced to a whimpering mess by a loud noise or unexpected sight. The weakness inside of her had never been more apparent and she was tired, sick to the back teeth with it.

After squaring her shoulders, she leaned back, wrenching her small hands from the screen and folded her legs comfortably, placing her hands her thighs to steady herself. With the dim setting, her own ghostly reflection peered back at her; she burned a hole into her sweaty, flushed face and chanced a glance to the side.

Ben’s head lopped first to his right and then down, as if the life had been sucked straight from his body, leaving a wilted version of himself behind. A shadow of the man she had wanted and longed for took his place but a determination remained. A series of groaned out curses spilled from his dry, cracked lips as he strained against the metal binding him. A fighter, a man full of passion, her lips parted in awe of him. Sleek iron braces kept his hands planted on the thin armrests but his legs were free and he kicked his bare feet, stomping on the floor as he attempted to free himself. It was to no avail.

The unnatural way he contorted his body, twisting his neck, middle and more, frightened her, it reminded her of possessions in movies. The dramatic ones, where the victim would grunt, spit and growl then hurl until the demon reaped what was left of their hollowed out shell of a body.

The restraints were not Ben’s only vulnerability.

Stripped, he sat clothed only in his boxer shorts. Though the picture was fuzzy in places, she could see the goosebumps coating his limbs and how the veins and tendons in his forearms and neck jutted against his skin. An array of deep splotches in varying shades of plum, indigo blue and honey yellow painted his pale skin, showing the degree of his beating and the rate of his tentative healing. They spanned around his middle, all the way up to his heaving chest and she burned, disgusted at the level of violence inflicted upon him whereas she remained mostly untouched.

Equals, they were not. Though, in her eyes, they never had been.

Some baser part of her noted the broadness of his shoulders or how the muscles in his abdomen spasmed against his skin with every minute movement. The practically non-existent pinch of his waist and the thickness of his thighs did not escape her notice either.

A stark and almost starling size difference separated the two and yet she had fit so perfectly against him. Disturbed by her train of thought, she squashed the lewd thoughts and tucked them away. She couldn’t go down that road, not now.

“Rey,” Ben croaked out pitifully.

In his own hell, he called for _her_.

The wounds of his body reached far and wide, snatching up his voice but it was enough, she could hear him. A troubled groan followed as he set his gaze upwards, tilting his chin high and made eye contact with the camera trained on his incapacitated form.

Both of his eyes were open, though the swelling still rendered one of them close to falling shut. In that moment, she wanted him to see her more than she had ever done so before. A part of her thought he might be proud that she was the pillar of strength that would hopefully free him from his circumstance.

Ben maintained eye contact, just as she did. With a steady hand, she ran her fingers across the length of the screen, the flickering colours made shadows on her skin. Though they were clammy, she laid them flat against the cool glass, hoping to offer a semblance of comfort. It certainly helped her, though she acknowledged the oddness in such a gesture.

“You’re not alone,” she said, sure of herself.

That roused him further, and for a split second, it was easy to pretend they were not separated and strewn about in unknown places,both nearly falling to pieces. The not so brilliant tactic of avoidance slithered through the cracks of her mind and hissed that all would turn out okay if she played another game of make believe and rejected all forms of logic.

It told her to let go.

That she was still holding on when she could evade and bury herself away in the dark recesses of her mind and maybe leave something else behind in her place.

The process of substituting the bleak happenings of her actuality with impossible conclusions or dreams beyond her grasp had fast become one of the most tried and used solutions in her life.

The situation called for the senseless action but she denied it full force, hushing the thought away with equal venom. Now was not the time for it, she was unwilling to lie to herself or fall for the allure of deluded wrongsome charms. She had to fight back and not play the ignorant fool in that way, not when Ben was involved, not _ever_.

“Benjamin here does not like water, isn’t that right?”

The information entered into her conscience in the form of a slow trickle, cold as ice and just as jarring. On one side of the tank, a metal pipe swung inward and with that, her heart sank into the pit of her churning gut.

For the longest time, she thought him invincible. A force without weakness. Perhaps it was because she thought so highly of him or placed him on a pedestal. She always assumed nothing could touch him and he possessed no real fears, why would he when he had the world at his feet? Those broad shoulders and thick limbs were only even more testament to his physical strength, combated with his bright mind, he could ward anything away.

Or so she thought.

“Let me out of here,” Ben demanded, a weak whisper next to the chuckle from the speaker.

The crude, maniacal laughter made her head hot. Blunt nails bit into her thighs and she hoped to draw blood, to feel at least some of the pain that he was. He would not bear it alone.

Rey’s eyes zeroed in on the pipe and witnessed a single drop of water fall and land in the tank, hitting the floor with a wet splat. Clawing at her throat, she watched on in terror as without warning, a blast of water rushed from the rusted metal into the tank. It came out thick and fast, drenching Ben’s hair and he screamed, shaking violently.

“Please, stop!”

The loudness of his beggar’s yell was enough for her to cover her ears, palming either side of her head, she pushed until it hurt and the heel of her palm dug against her skull. Some part of her wanted to scream as well, half transported back to the past where a television screen was her only companion and the shrieks of her parents the soundtrack of a dismal childhood that warped her into something different.

Something not quite right.

Jostled between memories and reality, she rocked, using the tips of her toes to balance herself but promptly stopped when she saw the water flow ceased just as it reached Ben’s ankles. A morsel of grace and mercy, one that would not last. The torment seemed never ending, one that would push them both to their individual breaking points and still try to take some more. A vulture would pick and devour them and only leave the bones behind.

Dropping her hands, she attempted to whisper assurances but Ben was rattled and unnerved, flailing and gasping like someone swept in a riptide and lost at sea.

The water barely grazed his shins but he behaved in a way that almost made her believe he was drowning. In some ways, he was. Away from her, he was beyond the reach of safety.

A clear tank acted as his would be coffin.

If she possessed the means, she would tear out the bolts until her fingernails were cracked and bloody if it meant she could free him. She would run at those clear walls a thousand times or more until they fell. Anything, she would do anything to save him.

“The game is simple, Rey. I’ll ask a question and if you answer correctly, the water will remain off. But if you answer incorrectly, it will restart and remain on until you answer another question correctly. Easy.”

It was all too much.

Pressure was something some thrived on, but not her. It made her flustered and crumble like walls in wars, bombarded and blitzed with continuous attacks until there was nothing left, just dust.

With white hot malice on the tip of her tongue, she bared her teeth and willed her grudge to show. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving them wet in their wake.

Unsurprisingly, she had cracked at the mere mention of proper responsibility but it did not mean she was down for the count, somehow, she would surface just enough to act as Ben’s life preserver, despite the anchor around her ankles dragging her downward.

“Can you handle that?”

“Yes,” she bit out, tugging at strands of her hair and then rolling the tips between her forefinger and thumb. It grounded her to some extent. The separation and feel of coarse hair against soft skin always calmed her.

“Brilliant. The first one is easy. How old is your boss, Ben Solo?”

Rey scoffed, frowning. This was Child’s Play.

Ben had been featured on the Forbes under thirty list for concurrent years spanning back since his early twenties. Everyone knew his age, the press spoke of it often, badgering him relentlessly about finding a wife or starting a family in nearly every interview he granted. They were rare, though. Privacy meant a great deal to him and she respected that, even though she greedily devoured any snippets about his life like a woman starved.

Rey saved all the magazines and newspapers, she kept them in her bedside drawer. Whenever she felt lonely, she would read them, though she had long memorised all the information.

“Twenty-nine.”

A long beat of silence ensued and she doubted herself, counting from the year of his birth to the present twice before an answer followed. Like a child, she did so with her fingers, finding the visuals calmed her. The repetitiveness of her actions was her oldest and dearest friend.

“Well done.”

With that, she could breathe again. But it was short-lived.

After that, a series of questions, all revolving around Ben followed and each time, she answered correctly, growing quietly confident in her knowledge of him. If it disturbed Ben, he did not show it. Much to her relief, he visibly relaxed and did not appear as frightened as he once had.

That was until the final question, one that would cause a tidal wave of hurt.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

The restraints around Ben’s wrists popped open and on shaky legs, he stood, staring up at the camera. It was as if he could see her soul, his eyes the most penetrating sight she had ever bore witness to.

Somewhat frazzled, she sucked in a deep lungful of air, unsure if her captor wanted her to confess what she had done to Ben. But he said it was their secret and that he would not tell him. Was that his plan all along? To have her admit it and make Ben loathe her very existence? He would live, but he would never look at her the same way again. It was the price she would have to pay.

Standing, she began to pace, wishing she could fold in on herself and disappear.

“Tick tock.”

The words caught in her throat and she thought some more, thinking of all the wrongness in her mind, eroding her from the inside out.

“I once stole a lipstick from the drugstore,” she rattled out.

Clearly, she had made a mistake.

“Wrong answer.”

Ben’s eyes locked with hers once more before he swivelled, eyes rounding on the pipe that burst with a heavy stream of water, filling the tank faster than before. Clearly panicked, he rushed forward, standing on the chair. In his haste to reach it, he nearly fell but stabilised himself and rediscovered his balance.

“I accidentally ran over my neighbour’s foot once, I was too busy fiddling with my radio that I didn’t notice them,” she tried, feeling a surge of adrenaline lance through her.

A series of tuts boomed from the speakers.

The clear displeasure was like a kick in the teeth. It hurt and humiliation gripped her, her knees grew weak, ready to buckle under the weight of her shame.

“I’m disappointed in you, Rey. I thought we could be honest with one another, perhaps you’re not adequately motivated.”

With the clank of the pipes, the water fell faster and heavier until Ben, even standing on the chair, was touched by it once again. He stood on the tips of his toes and hit his fists against the roof of the tank.

Maybe it was time to offer the truth, of how she used him but she feared his rejection, she would not be able to cope alone in all of this.

“Please, you said you would keep my secret!”

“You believe that to be the worst thing you have ever done?”

The water rose until it settled under Ben’s chin. His long limbs thrashed in the water, he swallowed some and spat it out, choking. Soon he would know the full depth of her depravity.

“Yes! I used Ben when he was asleep…I rubbed myself against him until I…until I came. I’m sorry, Ben, I’m so sorry.”

Trembling and with her lewdness exposed, she clamped her eyes shut, backing against the nearby wall until she dropped uselessly to the floor, emotionally exhausted and spent.

“No, there is something else.”

No.

No, there was not.

She erased it.

She could not go there.

Years of swallowing pills, an endless stream of doctors and isolating herself had bleached her mind. Enough for her to breathe without inhaling the stench of decay or walking with the whites of eyes never to unroll again clouding her vision.

“No! I…I abused Ben in his sleep, that is the worst thing I have ever done!!”

Ben’s panicked eyes looked towards the camera a final time before he inhaled deeply and held his breath. The water swallowed him whole, claiming his body, dragging him under.

He sunk, perhaps lower than she ever would.

Struggling, he bashed the sides of the tank but he was slow and flailing lifelessly like a fish on land, desperate for relief or the end. The fight in him roared, grappling and kept him suspended despite the odds weighing him down.

He was drowning.

No.

He was dying.

Death was not a faceless figure who loomed at the end of life to her, she knew his calling card well but in their meetings, he never did touch her. Seeing Ben teeter so close to encountering the cold embrace of putrefaction surrounded by his one true fear, left her hollow, his life did not deserve to be snuffed, not this young, not ever.

“No.”

“Liar,” she roared, hurting her ears.

“Do you know how long the human body can survive without oxygen? Approximately three to six minutes.”

Uninhibited, she shrieked.

“Say it.”

It was the loudest she had ever screamed in her life and again, she walked the line between her present reality and the past, swamped and spiralling, lodged in a time where she was completely helpless.

Opening her eyes, she found herself still in the prison but two familiar and ghoulish figures lay curled up on her bed. Skin pale and grey, mouths parted in a final gape with lips stripped up and away, revealing the morbid smiles of nicotine stained teeth.

Two faces, deathly, but each had played a part in gifting her life. The tiles were wet below her toes, her blanket still full of holes and both wriggled like worms did in the rain. Though she was eleven, she knew full well what was happening. It had not been the first time they took too much but it would be the last.

Rooted to the spot, she felt the heartache of her daily life dissipate just as their lives were drained. The cracks of her knuckles through a series of harsh tugs and pulls drowned out the whimpers and almost silent pleas.

They never listened to her, so a faux deafness kept her from moving. The steady thud of her heart increased only a fraction.

They died with their daughter watching on without a care, the most morbid and troublesome of spectators.

Something else crawled inside her soul.

Freedom came with it but her mind became a new prison, chained up tight and full of damage, it contained the little girl who deserved punishment for what she did. She deserved to suffer, and now she was.

Blinking, she was back in the room, alone, her parents gone but she saw how Ben’s thrashing about began to slow until it was a mixture of a crawl and dead float.

“I watched my parents die. Maybe if I phoned for help, they might have lived but all I could think about was how much they hurt me. I was so tired,” she said, a monotone drone from a statue still figure, peaky-white and devoid of life.

“There we go, the truth will set you free, Rey. You’re such a good girl.”

The tank began to drain right before her eyes. Ben gasped, coughing and spluttering as he sucked in desperate, deep lungfuls of precious air and spewed up water. Curled up at the bottom of the tank, he lay like a child would in the womb, so vulnerable but new.

“You’ve won, Benjamin will be returned to the room shortly.”

Rey nodded, unable to feel much at all. A numbness, so cold and frightening rendered her speechless, her thoughts a toxic and turbulent mess of guilt and disgust.

Something gnawed at the back of her mind, tinting her cheeks in twin blushes. A sick sort of pleasure came with the prospect of having Ben close to her once again.

The television turned off.

“Game over,” she whispered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter...things get heated...but in what way?🔥
> 
> Thank you to everyone who still reads and comments, your thoughts and encouragement always leave me in awe!
> 
> I will be replying to comments from now on, so if you have any questions, be sure to ask me and I will answer the best I can 🖤


	9. RED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Potential trigger warnings:**
> 
> -Physical violence.  
> -Non consensual drug taking.
> 
> I obviously do not condone either but I will say this is fiction and dark so please be mindful of the tags and take responsibility for you read.
> 
> Thank you so much to Rebecca for reading this over and being a constant source of love and support.

The confession sat heavy upon her tongue.

The voice said the truth would set her free.

Instead came an ensnarement, she felt bound to the words she let slip and determine her fate.

The image of wiggling bodies so close to death and the stench of decay lingered. A numbness kept her from fully experiencing the terror and rush of memories long stamped upon and pushed to the back of her mind.

It hurt to _think_.

It hurt to _feel_.

Repression no longer worked as a coping method, so she simply sat and attempted to wipe her mind blank with the heavy press of fingertips nudged painfully against her scalp. The pain gave her a new focus, a grounding that she could stand herself upon.

If she slipped, she could hear the loud crashing and onslaught of water raining down on Ben. Though her confessions saved him, it ruined her just the same. The silver lining was that she told herself he had not been able to hear what she said due to the rush of water battering his body, maybe her secret had been drowned just like his desperate screams had been.

For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to hope and cling to something apparently unattainable and beyond her reach. With all the energy and willpower that remained, she pulled herself up off the floor and slumped into bed, tugging and pulling at the blankets until she was entirely covered.

Under there, she could fool herself into believing she was safe and away from that place. The soft layers and slight weight offered security and always had. They kept the monsters away. When she folded herself into a tiny heap beneath it, so small and so inconsequential, she dreamed that she was untouchable, a strong woman who would not crumble at the first sign of trouble.

It was dark when wet hands palmed her ribs. Swallowing the instinctual scream came easy, as with only one, steady inhale, she knew who cradled her from behind. Chlorine filled her nostrils, so sharp and hot, enough for it to leave a chemical burn on the tip of her tongue.

She could breathe again.

“Sleep,” he urged. The plea was a hoarse gravel, quiet but a quiet and tired desperation bled at the edges.

He was damp and water dripped all over her. From her hair to her sleep shorts, he soaked her through but he was so incredibly warm. Their calves intertwined and she felt him pull her closer, his front pressed taut against her back.

The familiarity of his body came as easy as a second skin, one she could have duped herself into believing she had once lived in. The heat emanated from his long, thick arms coiled around her middle and brought with it a sense of relief.

Unable to deny him, she tucked herself closer and laid her head on his shoulder and found that sleep found her fast.

When she woke again, it was to a set of words on loop, a continuous and seemingly endless drone that made her heart beat harder.

_“No! I…I abused Ben in his sleep, that is the worst thing I have ever done! I watched my parents die.”_

Fear gripped her.

_“No! I…I abused Ben in his sleep, that is the worst thing I have ever done! I watched my parents die.”_

The television screened the footage of her breakdown and her frantic admissions. The editing was sleek, a simple cut between her two secrets. Each time, the image shifted and zoomed in on her flushed face, wet with tears and sweat.

The room was cold and seemed smaller, as if the walls had crept in a few inches.

Swallowing hard, she tugged at her blanket and found Ben sitting on his own bed. The way he was curled in on himself made him seem impossibly small, shoulders hunched and chin propped up by his knuckles.

He stared straight at her, right through her, almost.

It _made_ her.

It _broke_ her.

Shrivelling up and disappearing sounded wonderful but instead she raised her chin and set her shoulders back, letting the blanket fall from around her. It was a morsel of exposure she could control.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

The words did not seem strong enough, they lacked all of the excuses for her actions, ones she had yet to determine.

The image of her dropping to her knees in front of him flashed through her mind more than once. If she begged, he might forgive her and they could return to what they once were.

Near strangers thrown into a situation that brought them closer. So close in so little time but she could never utter a complaint, not even a whisper of hate.

Ben raised his head and his eyes narrowed, from where she sat they seemed so dark, void of colour or life or warmth. A small tilt of his face later and he finally spoke, leaning forward again.

“You saved me.”

The words took her by surprise.

How had she saved him when she violated his trust? Where were her saviour ways when she stood idle and watched her abusive parents take their last breath and made no move to prevent their fate?

It did not sit well with her, no matter how much she wanted his praise or attention.

“I…I used you.”

Ben dropped his head into his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. The act was one that came from anxiety but as a spectator, it kept her transfixed and silent, focused solely on the minute movements.

“The water…you got me out of there.”

Rey nodded in acknowledgment. Even though it hurt her to address her own transgressions, her painful truths had saved him from death. No matter how sickened she was at herself, she could not deny that for the first time in her life, she saved someone. She let her parents die, for all she knew, even if she had called for help, it would have been too late.

Her flesh and blood were dead but Ben lived.

“My uncle tried to drown me as a child.”

It made Rey still and forget herself. The breath rushed out of her lungs and with weakened knees, she crouched in front of him, balancing herself by curling her palms around his bare calves. The act was bold and intimate, she acknowledged that but it felt right, her touch starved body craved his warmth, she needed it like she required air to breathe.

Beneath her fingertips, he jolted but soon relaxed into her touch, his bloodshot eyes roamed from her hands to her face, as if he was categorising every tiny detail.

“No one believed me that he did it, they thought he saved me and pulled me from the water. No one ever listened. I had to watch him succeed in life when he was a monster,” he clenched his teeth together and practically hissed the words.

The change in his demeanour was startling but those eyes, they kept her pinned in place, inhumane almost as if seared by the chlorine and water he was exposed to.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, you shouldn’t apologise for the mistakes of others, you’re good, Rey, pure.”

The words confused her to no end, her confessions were still playing, not much more than background noise but still a harsh reminder, a cruel jab at her to ensure neither would forget her mistakes. There was no escaping them. It left a strange kind of bitterness in her mind, like a seed that would burrow and leak outwards, its roots making rot of her thoughts.

“I don’t blame you for what happened, nothing is your fault.”

“I still used you, so be angry with me!” she snapped, tugging at the ends of her hair as she stood. Huffing, she ripped her hands away from him as if he burned her, she swayed for a moment, heaving in desperate breaths. The man was blinded by some kind of delusion that made her seem whiter than white and the pressure with living up to that was crushing, it would break her.

“I could never,” he retorted, standing to his full height.

In the small, enclosed space, he seemed impossibly big, larger than life.

Maybe she wanted him to punish her, to scold her in some way so she could move on from her actions and learn to heal or forgive her moment of weakness. But there he stood, standing as if she had done no wrong, as if she was a saviour when she was far from it.

“Do you not understand?” she groaned, mirroring his stance but unlike him, she was riled and angry beyond comprehension.

The feeling was foreign to her, she always tried to maintain calm whenever faced with any kind of conflict but passiveness was not an option.

It made her want to do things, it encouraged her to face things head on for the first time in her life and not cower when confronted with something that could cripple her emotionally.

Ben kept his arms loose at his sides, goosebumps pebbled his flesh but other than that, he did not appear distressed which only deepened her confusion. Death had nearly snatched him up only hours before.

“I understand fully, I’m not some imbecile, Rey. I know your faults and here I am, still thanking you.”

Without much thought, she rushed forward, planting her palms on his bare chest and pushed him with all her might. It did little and so she repeated the action, again and again until she managed to make him back-step into the wall.

“You should be angry!”

For a split second, his eyes flashed with something unfamiliar to her, defiance and passion and something else fringing at the edges but he swallowed hard and said nothing.

In retaliation, she found herself slipping into the very same thing she feared for the majority of her life. A person who used their words and actions for wrongness laced with violence. Panting hard, she screamed, an animal kind of scream that had no business in making a human sound like an untamed beast with red anger on their mind and teeth gnashing in warning.

Though she was weak and exhausted, she balled her fists and raised them high, pummelling his chest as hard as she could manage. It felt so perverse and misguided but she needed some kind of way to channel her anger, an emotion she had long forgotten how to deal with. Perhaps she never really knew how to cope or tame it so she squashed every irritant down, swallowing it like acidic bile and feeling toxic for the effort.

At first, Ben made no move to defend herself and let the barrage of punches rain down on his chest. In her rage, she did not miss how his pale skin, still healing from the attack and his traumatic abduction, flushed and the telltale signs of blooming bruises began to paint his torso.

At that point, she became hysterical, loathing what she was doing but unable to stop, she knew no other way to navigate whatever she was feeling, it came with no label, the emotion unfamiliar to her. Only when she cried out, feeling wobbly, did Ben act. He came alive, as if something ignited within him.

“Rey, stop!” His voice boomed like thunder.

Thick fingers curled around her bony wrists, squeezing just hard enough to make her stop. He brought them up and against him until their faces were mere inches from the other. Lowering himself to her level, he dropped her wrists and she was too weak to lift them.

“You think I never saw you. You have no idea how much I wanted you, sweetheart. I could never be mad that you wanted me, my body and heart are yours, I don’t care that you did something to me,” he murmured, quietly, nothing like the roar only moments before.

Rey frowned, blinking away tears, sure she had misheard.

To further affirm his point, he cupped her face with two hands, leaning down until she felt his breaths fan across her lips. His eyes watched them for a split second before he faced her again, eyeing her with an intensity she never thought him capable of.

“You did nothing wrong.”

His lips were soft against her own, she tasted chlorine and something else, something innately him. Though she had never kissed anyone before, it was all too easy to follow his lead and return it with an equal fervour. She thread her fingers through his hair, tugging just a little as she whined, feeling his tongue roll against her own.

Like that, she warmed and pressed against him, wanting him to consume her some more. His hands were everywhere and nowhere at all but the taste of him was something she would never tire of. It was better than she imagined and despite his initial gentleness, his movements transformed into something more, a rough neediness that she knew all too well.

“I want you,” he breathed harshly against her, palming her hips.

The words were far from comforting. It was all too much to comprehend. The man she lusted after for years, the one she always thought saw her as something invisible, a nobody without worth, wanted her.

It was both a dream and a nightmare and her own crippling self doubt outweighed any joy she felt. Rearing back, she stumbled into the nearby wall, eyeing the bathroom door still tasting him.

“You can’t want me.”

This only seemed to irritate him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

“You don’t get to tell me what I want, Rey. I always saw you, you just never saw me looking back.”

Nodding dumbly, she walked in a daze to the bathroom and locked the door and felt Ben’s body hit the door a second too late.

“Please, don’t shut me out, Rey,” he begged, pounding on the door.

Sliding against it, she dropped to the floor, covering her ears as she rocked.

“I just need to think!”

The pounding stopped and everything was quiet, just what she needed. She sat there for hours, trying to calm herself and fight the darker thoughts in her mind, the ones that hissed and spit and told her Ben would never want damaged goods.

By the time she crept back into the room, Ben was asleep in his own bed and she could not find it within herself to crawl in next to him for fear of waking him. She tiptoed to her own bed and buried herself under the blankets, with the belief Ben wanted her winning over the doubt.

* * *

Heavy footsteps woke her up.

In a way, she had been thankful. Fleeting images of a nightmare were torn away, remnants soon forgotten but they still left her with a racing heart.

The movements behind her were slow and precise as if the person wandering about was trying to keep their footfalls to a minimum. Though she was disoriented and groggy, her limbs heavy and still half asleep, she instinctively knew to keep her eyes shut and feign sleep. Despite the growing terror clawing at her insides, she trusted her gut instinct and relaxed her body, keeping her limbs loose and breathing shallow.

The urge to hold her breath and tense up was stifling, a part of her wanted to retreat under the blankets and curl herself into the foetal position but that kind of movement would give her away so she breathed softly in and out of her nose. With her blunt fingernails, she dug her fingers into the soft, plush pillow, groping it and sunk into a faux state of safety and security.

Heavy breathing sounded behind her.

The room was dark, pitch black and without any source of light but she felt the warmth of a body at her back, leaning over her and how their breaths came out faster and deeper.

Leather clad fingertips carved a path along the slope of her shoulder, all the way to the column of her slender neck. The fingers stilled when they found her pulse point, it fluttered against the cool material and by then, she suspected whoever it was knew that she was awake. Despite how her mind screamed that something, a real threat loomed over her and caged her body with their own, she kept completely still, even when the mattress dipped and they inched forward.

The hand came down on her thigh, still covered by her blankets and then a modulated voice, heavily obscured by a device, whispered in her ear.

“I know you’re awake, it’s okay. I just wanted you to know something, Rey.”

Rey shivered but made no move to answer. The game of play pretend was too enticing. Avoidance and denial were friends she was long acquainted with.

“Ben was awake the night you used him and came on his cock, he woke before you did. Let go of your guilt, it will only hold you back.”

Rey squeezed her pillow tighter, feeling her eyes swim with tears over the implications of the words. If they were to be believed, it changed things, it made her want to whisper a million questions in return but her heart was firmly lodged in her throat.

All of her words failed her.

The person grasped her jaw, imploring her for entrance and unable to do anything otherwise, she gasped quietly as the hand parted her lips and left a pill upon her tongue.

It tasted horrid but they propped her chin up and closed her mouth for her and so she dry swallowed it, unable to stomach the odd taste.

“Sleep,” they whispered, squeezing her hand in an almost tender manner before they rose up and crept towards the door again.

A few clicks of the keypad later and the heavy door opened with a quiet beep.

They were _gone_.

As much as she fought to resist sleeping, her mind soon swam with a heavy fog, making processing the events too much of a struggle before the inevitable happened and she succumbed, feeling light and heavy simultaneously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Admittedly, I am worried about reading the comments as I know it has been a while since I updated but my health has not been great.
> 
> I am going to try update this every two weeks but it might come sooner than that. Thank you to everyone for the support and gentle encouragement. 
> 
> The next chapter is...oh it is going to be a wee bit creepy.
> 
> A special thank you to StellaScully1984 for gifting me the art 😘


	10. BREATHE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please refer to the tags.
> 
> **POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS:**
> 
> -Detailed description of menstrual blood  
> -Confusion/Paranoia  
> -Attempted/perceived drowning
> 
> I know menstrual blood might weird/gross you out but trust me when I say, I am a **HUGE** believer in symbolism.
> 
> So in brief:
> 
> Menstrual blood is often revered as a symbol of **rebirth** and **regeneration.**
> 
> A symbol of untold **power.**
> 
> Menstruation and the menstrual cycle are **powerful** physical manifestations of the divine feminine energy.
> 
> **SO**
> 
> Read into that how you want.
> 
> We have more art!
> 
> This piece was done by my beautiful friend, Jess/Gopherbroke.
> 
> I love it so much!🖤

The room was quiet.

Over the course of her time in the basement, she found a certain kind of weakness came attached to her captivity. It felt subtle at first but upon waking, still so disturbed, she felt impossibly light, her muscles no longer hugely reliant or capable of much strenuous movement and so she simply lay there. It was hard to tell if it was the aftermath of her drugging or lack of activity. Frailty sprung to mind. It chained her without the use of real chains. A little bird in a gilded cage. One with no room to spread her wings and fly.

Before everything, she walked everywhere, rain or shine, miles and miles would slip away under her feet. Exercise played a huge part of her therapy and ongoing attempt at recovery. It soothed her in many ways, the ability to stand on her own two feet even if it was mostly in the physical sense.

But in here, instead, her strength began to manifest in her mind. A fortification of sorts and shedding of crippling weakness. A startling clarity washed over her as she pieced her life together, bit by bit and thought of the night before. It had terrified her, maybe even enlightened her.

As she did, her mind churned up the words of her captor, devouring them, spitting them and doing it all again. Reliving it became less of a struggle. It did not break her like previous trauma did, she called to the quiet, neglected part of her brain where her rationality had been buried and clawed until she managed to draw from it.

A few hours passed and she still felt muddled but her thoughts were not as chaotic and murky like the dirty shallows of a lake like mind where mud lined the shore.

The television turned on, revealing nothing but a white screen soundtracked by soft rainfall. It was blissful and for that, she frowned, conjuring up possibilities why her captor would feel the need to calm her. Especially after he proved he was capable of slipping a pill on her tongue and making her docile in other ways.

All of it made her miss her apartment, little more than a tiny hole in the wall, but home all the same.

In there, she would spend hours by the window, watching the rain fall down on the city and make pretty noise. It washed away the grime of life and made everything new. Her psychiatrist, a kind and patient man she had been seeing for well over a decade, always taught her to draw comfort from the small things and let it act as the foundation from which she would build herself up from.

The great giants in life could be built from rubble and ruin.

The combination of the rain sounds and residual relaxant of her body following her drugging left her in haze, as if the weight of the world sat upon her and pinned her to the mattress. Instead of fighting it, she lay there, unresisting and let her head fall limply on her shoulder so she could watch Ben.

Unlike her, he remained fast asleep.

It struck her as odd considering she was under the influence of a drug, likely a sedative. It was easy to forget the trauma he had been forced to endure. How much of a toll it could have on someone, crush them if they were not careful enough.

For the longest time she thought of him untouchable. A man with power and wealth and copious amounts of both outer and inner strength. Yet even he had his weakness, he could be bent and broken like her, water made him malleable. The images of him drowning would never leave her. The story of an uncle attempting to drown his nephew would not either. Both were seared and planted in her mind.

It was hard to think of the suffering of others when she hurt so deeply, and selfishly, her mind limited itself primarily to her own struggles first and foremost with barely any thoughts for others left behind.

She had to work to be kind or live up to the illusion of selflessness, she supposed everyone did. It was human nature to corrupt and tear others down and think of their wellbeing second. Yet, she was one of the trampled.

After heaving out a sigh, she continued to stare, unblinking until her eyes were dry and sore. Only then did Ben stir, groaning against the sheets. The words that were whispered in her ear the night before swept around her mind and yet when he made eye contact with her, his tired eyes wide and beseeching, it seemed impossible to entertain the idea that he had been awake that night.

Surely he would have said something.

Perhaps she was the greatest monster of all for even considering it.

“Are you okay?” He asked, sitting up, he yawned and stretched each of his limbs with deliberate care, taking his time to do so.

The clicks and cracks of bones and muscles bounced off the walls and wormed into her ears.

No.

She was far from okay.

But she needed to fight for herself and whatever future she hoped to live outside of this prison. She needed to find her backbone and stand without a hunch of insecurity or fear curling her inwards.

Hiding and making herself impossibly small, someone you would not look twice at had worked for the longest time. She clawed at her blankets, squeezing until her knuckles popped. The feeling of soft wool beneath beneath her fingertips grounded her and reminded her that she was not invisible, she could not hide forever but it would always be an option. If she had to retreat to protect herself, she would do it.

“No.”

Though she was weak and so light, she pulled back the blankets and stood, dropping her arms to her sides. Depleted of fear, she stalked towards him, swaying at first until she found her balance. Any progress was stunted by a dull, blooming pain in her gut, incessant as it throbbed within her like teeth methodically gnawing at her insides.

It was only when Ben’s eyes widened and trailed downwards did she realise her predicament.

“Rey,” Ben gulped, eyeing the floor before he then quickly trained his gaze on her face.

“Ben was awake…”

The words tore through her mind.

It left her feeling exposed and naked and she wished that the feeling was reciprocated. That she could see right through him and discover the truth in his eyes and pluck every memory and thought from his head until she could discover the truth surrounding the captor’s ominous revelation.

The pronounced stare obviously unnerved him so she snatched her eyes away, coming away feeling emboldened and powerful for the first time in her life. More often than not, she avoided eye contact with most people, never really mustering the courage to let anyone look at her long enough for fear they would find what was inside.

A monster.

A monster who was crippled and shaped by experience and circumstance, a lost child who watched her parents die without a flinch or worry. Someone who felt no regret and only relief when the people who gave her life gasped and spasmed, struggling for their last breaths, when they were the ones responsible for her first ones and every one since.

Now was not the time to think of them.

She followed where his eyes tracked her and found bright red blood clinging to her thighs and calves, dripping to the checkered tiles below. Some of it had dried or coagulated and darkened into a rusty burgundy but the rest was free flowing and new.

It had not occurred to her that the cramps in her belly were signal of something else but it made sense, it was not a product of anxiety as doubt lingered upon the fringes of her mind and questions burned the tip of her tongue.

It should have disgusted her.

To stand so utterly vulnerable in front of him like that but she could not find it within herself to care. The whole act was natural. No revulsion seemed to taint him but she sensed his panic, from his trembling fingers and the way he gulped too many times as if he was trying to form an appropriate response.

After a while, he seemed to compose himself, just as she stiffened, feeling another sharp cramp lance through her, one so piercing it made her jolt and grope her belly that was slightly swollen. Bloating was common for her during her menstrual period but before her captivity, she could hide it better, drowning herself in long sweaters, always a size or two larger than her natural fit.

“You’re bleeding,” he offered, quite dumbly.

“It must be that time of the month,” she offered flippantly and sniffed, feeling hot.

How long had they been there? It was hard to tell. The days blurred together, night and day made no sense now. Time simply did not exist. It moved quick and it moved slow and she was ignorant to it all, caught up in a haze of despair and want for a freedom she was not sure she even longed for anymore.

Ben closed the distance between them and she did her best not to flinch. To give anything away or her line of the thinking or the seed of doubt that her captor planted and that had taken root.

In a way, she loathed it. Wished she could tear it out with her bare hands until her nails were bloody because this was Ben, the man she had wanted for so long. A man she had grown to love without ever really knowing him well enough, barely delving below the surface but loving what she did see. A man who had done nothing but protect her or try to prevent further harm finding its way in her direction.

The uncertainty would eat her up, if she had been the woman she was before her confinement, it would have already swallowed her whole. But in the time stuck behind the same four walls, she had learned that she was not as weak as she perceived.

So she allowed him to embrace her, let his thick arms shield her from the cameras and nuzzled her face against his chest whilst she pressed her fingers against his spine. His heart was wild at her cheek, like drum whose tune beat harder and louder than the rest and all because of her, or she hoped that was the reason.

“I’ll run you a bath and clean up in here, does that sound okay?”

He rested his chin on her head, her hair was limp and laden with grease but she would wash it, make herself clean. In return, she left an open mouthed kiss on his chest, right where his heart was located. Ben hummed, she felt it against her skin, his hands settled on her lower back. The cramps were noticeable now and she hissed to which he promptly attempted to soothe by pushing his fingers against her skin and rubbing in tight circles, a massage of sorts.

“That would be perfect,” she sighed, forgetting her pain for a brief moment.

He pulled back slowly, almost unwillingly as if he did not wish for them to part and search her face before the ghost of a smile lifted his lips. Unlike the kiss the day before, this one was soft and gentle, his eyes asked for permission and she nodded, feeling him chase her with his mouth until their lips met.

It was sweet and brief, he tasted of mint, like the toothpaste in their shared bathroom.

Then he left, hurrying to the bathroom. She followed, taking her time and found him sitting on the edge of the tub, one hand on the tap and the other in the shallow pool of water that rose at a steady pace.

A heady aroma filled her nostrils. Like fresh roses and chamomile. The bubble bath she surmised. Ben’s fingers skimmed the surface, likely checking the temperature. When he found her staring, he smiled, ushering her inside before he turned the taps, stopping the flow of water.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

He squeezed her hand in passing and then she was alone, confused again but focused more on cleaning herself. She peeled her clothes from her body, grimacing when she kicked her wet panties aside, knowing their captor would have to clean them. It unnerved her and she shivered, noting that feminine hygiene products were amongst the stacks of shampoo, soaps and other personal hygiene products.

Just how long were they expected to stay there?

Were they ever going to leave?

It troubled her but she tried not to think too ahead into the future. Experiences in life made her wary so she treated life as a day by day thing with no tomorrows ever promised.

She made sure to lock the door behind Ben. It was a habit. She could never bathe with the door open. Too many dark thoughts piped up in relation to that, of her drunken father barrelling through the door.

She shook the thought from her head and traipsed towards the mirror finding it clouded over with steam. After a quick swipe of her palm across the surface, she saw herself. Deep, dark circles under her eyes contrasted with the peaky pallor of her skin, deprived of natural sunlight. Her hair was a mess, strewn about in all directions and she lacked any real light, her eyes sad and dim.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a step back then waved at the mirror, brushing it with her fingertips.

No response or words followed her.

Not even a whisper.

She peered closer, half expecting a figure to burst through the glass and snatch her up but there was only the drip of the tap and the steam rising from the bath.

It seemed like she was alone.

It is hard to discern whether she should feel joy or fear about that snippet of information but she did not let it torment her, she instead tried to forget the amount of cameras she spied in the bathroom and stepped into the tub. The water was piping hot, enough to make her hiss but she still sunk down, enjoying the burn and how it cleansed her.

Ever since she was a young girl, she followed the same ritual and routine when bathing so she inhaled deeply, held her breath and dipped her head beneath surface.

There was something comforting about hiding under there. The quiet. The protest and strain of her body as it tried to fight for air. The only explanation she could offer for liking such a thing was down there, she could breathe even though she could not to do so physically. It was different, she could breathe in the sense that there was no one there or the weight of expectation weighing her down.

It was like floating in a calm sea.

She could rise at any moment.

Each of her hands cradled the side of the tub, squeezing so hard that she feared something would break.

When her lungs began to scream that silent scream and plea, she opened her eyes, feeling the hot water momentarily blind her until she squinted.

Except, she was not alone.

Looming over her, stood Ben.

There was no love or care etched in his features, just the void of blackened eyes examining her and the tilt of his head. She jolted and moved to rush forward but found she could not, his hand shot out and landed firmly on her chest, right in the middle of her breasts. It pinned her in place, no matter how hard she fought or thrashed about, sending water spilling over the edges.

Throughout it all, he stared down at her, the slow spreading of his lips shifting into a wide, sinister smile. Black spots dotted her vision, bubbles rushed to the surface as she inhaled more bathwater.

The burn was excruciating.

Water rushed in her mouth and up through her nose making her feel like she would would burst any minute but it hurt to fight, she grew tired and her limbs went limp.

Then the pressure was gone.

She shot up, pulling herself up and flung the top half of her body over the side, gasping, coughing and spluttering. It took some time to fall down, to feel normal again as she clawed at her hair, breathing harshly and even, the pain in her chest never quite leaving her. It felt tight, like she would not breathe right again.

Then came anger, hot white rage and she was ready to face Ben, demand answers and glared around the room.

But no one was there.

She slumped out of the bath, falling to the floor and blindly groped around for a towel until her fingers skimmed soft Egyptian cotton. She wrapped it around herself, only managing to get to her feet by using the bathroom counter to pull herself up.

She was alone.

She twirled around in a circle, chest heaving as she took in every inch of the confined space.

Disbelief rained down on her, she rushed to the door and found it locked.

“Impossible,” she croaked, glancing around like a wild animal trapped, being tracked by the most efficient hunter.

Just to make sure she was certain, she checked the door again. It would not budge. In a frenzied panic, she tried it a dozen more times, tugging at the ends of her hair and bit into her lip, her body shook violently. It did not make sense, Ben had been there, he had tried to drown her.

Or had he?

Had she imagined it all?

Only did she still when she heard the muffled shouts of someone beyond the door. How she managed to calm enough to quiet her breathing and lean in close, she did not know but she listened intently, resting her face against the door.

“Luke Skywalker is dead!”

Rey reared back in shock, cupping her mouth in shock. It was Ben’s voice but he sounded like a wounded animal, aggressive as if vultures closed in to pick him off.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes when she slumped against the door, curling up as small as she could make herself.

It had to be someone else, something who shared his name.

Luke Skywalker could not be dead. The man who had seen to her treatment since she was dragged away from her parent’s bodies.

The psychiatrist she had seen and come to see in a good light, the best light. Like a father, someone she could lean on day or night.

“Luke,” she whispered, sobbing in the silence of the bathroom, her terrifying encounter the least of her worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know what to say.
> 
> Does the fandom’s gatekeeping/policing and harassment of dark/horror/taboo fics knock my confidence and make me anxious? 
> 
> Yes.
> 
> Will I abandon this story?
> 
> No.
> 
> All I ask is you please consider that when you ask if this is abandoned or remind me how long it has been since I have updated. Trust me, I know how long it has been and I feel guilty for it.
> 
> **ANYWAY**
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads this and continues to support me. I appreciate every single one of you. Your thoughts and comments always inspire me to keep going with this ✨🖤
> 
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/AlbaStarGazer)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated :D
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


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